


Parva Victoriis (Little Victories)

by MizJoely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light BDSM, Roman Empire Sherlolly, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman Empire AU Sherlolly with Light BDSM. Slave!Sherlock. Cover art commissioned by sempaiko.tumblr.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Servus Ipsum (Slave Market)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocturnias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/gifts).



> Yeah, yeah, I know. I have a million unfinished WIPs, which I DO plan to finish. This one is a gift for the lovely and talented Nocturnias, who took my idle commentary on how I wanted to write a Roman era Sherlolly story and turned it on its head. How so? Let's just say that the character who ended up the slave was originally meant to be the owner. Speaking of owners, I own nothing but the plot and the names and the words the named characters speak. This will be very explicit in later chapters and will include some BDSM, my first foray into such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Cast of Characters:**
> 
> **John Watson – Junius Hadrian Veturius**  
>  A former army doctor whose life was once saved by a young Brittonic scholar/soldier named Sherlock
> 
> **Mary Watson – Mariana Maxia Veturius**  
>  Wife to Junius, mother of his (as yet) unborn child
> 
> **Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius**  
>  Midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother and in search of a Tutor who can match and manage the boy’s runaway intellect
> 
> **Molly's sisters – Flavia Lucretia and Juliana Justinia**  
>  Meddlesome and annoying and largely off-camera
> 
> **Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius**  
>  Restless, intelligent and bored eight-year-old sorely in need of some guidance  
>  _(You might recognize him as Archie from “The Sign of Three”)_
> 
> **Molly's (deceased) parents – Flavia Tullia Hortensius and Apollonius Gaius Hortensius**  
>  Present in spirit throughout the tale
> 
> **Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius**  
>  Head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion
> 
> **Phillip Anderson – Phillipus Didius Annius**  
>  Local barber wooing Mariana Tullia’s personal maid
> 
> **Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius**  
>  Personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber
> 
> **Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius**  
>  Head servant in the Hortensius household
> 
> **Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius**  
>  Mariana Tullia’s good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…
> 
> **Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock**  
>  Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia’s eventual lover
> 
> _Note: I will post an abbreviated version of this list at the head of every chapter to remind readers of the character’s names. And if you think I have them straight in my own head, you are sadly mistaken, LOL!_

Mariana Tullia Hortensius had never bought a slave before, that duty having always fallen to her parents while they still lived. However, they had both been taken by plague the year before, and as the eldest child left at home, household duties such as this now fell to her.

Her younger brother had driven off yet another tutor, and both her married elder sisters had advised her to simply purchase one instead; that way, no matter what abuse or tricks Marcus Aegyptus attempted, the slave would have no choice but to endure, no recourse but to appeal to Mariana. And if he stormed off, as the last one had (an overly emotional Greek), then Mariana could simply have the head of the household guard drag him back, whip him, and send him once more into their brother's quarters to try and din some sort of education into the little heathen.

It wasn't Mariana's first choice; she'd always felt that ownership of another human being must somehow be wrong, no matter how many priests in how many temples attempted to reassure her that yes, the Gods truly did approve of such things. The slaves in the Hortensius household had always been treated more like family than possessions, with beatings rarely having been meted out. That, in fact, was what her sisters actually recommended for Marcus; a good beating, which neither of their parents had ever approved for their precious only son, might do a great deal of good in turning him from a spoiled brat into an upstanding Roman citizen.

Mariana couldn't disagree with Flavia and Juliana; Marcus Aegyptus really was quite horrid sometimes. But other times he was the sweetest, kindest child and her heart simply melted. She suspected he was simply bored; he was certainly intelligent enough, possibly the most intelligent one in the family. Definitely more intelligent than his peers and playmates.

As an added incentive – one which she wished to avoid at all costs – if Marcus wasn't brought to heel and quickly, her sisters both threatened to revoke her guardianship and ship him off to their cousins in Mantua. It wasn't the loss of status she feared, or the fact that her access to the family coffers would be limited; she had her own money, set aside for her by her parents and money she'd earned on her own as a midwife. Rather, it was her concerns for her brother that caused her anxiety to rise, knowing full well their cousins’ rather brutal ideas of the proper way to raise a child.

All of which had driven her to find the best possible tutor and scribe she could. She herself could read and write both Latin and Greek, of course, as well as speak and make herself understood in a smattering of barbaric languages such as Gallic and Germanic, among others. Her younger brother surpassed her in that as well as mathematics, although she was more accomplished in the other sciences that her father had allowed her study, even taking her on as an unofficial assistant in his medical practice when she'd shown an aptitude. Officially she was merely a midwife, having come into that trade when her eldest sister unexpectedly went into labor while on a family holiday in the countryside. Molly had successfully delivered her nephew and begged her father for formal training, and he and her mother had given their blessings.

After their passing, his actual partner, a former army doctor named Junius Hadrian Veturius, had allowed Mariana to continue her practice of assisting, at the counsel of his wife, who was also named Mariana, a fact which both women had always found amusing. Junius had taken the unusual step of shortening his wife's name to Mary when both women were in the room at the same time, in order to alleviate confusion, although Mariana had told him it was perfectly fine to refer to her by her (admittedly hated) middle name, as the older man had known her since she was Marcus' age!

Junius merely smiled and admitted that he enjoyed calling his wife “my Mary” and Mariana never mentioned it again.

He was going to accompany her today; Mariana Maxia was home, busily preparing for the arrival of her and Junius' first child, come late in life and, the Gods willing and with Mariana's assistance as midwife, due to greet the world within a month's time.

She mused on the odd – yet satisfying – life she'd led after her sisters had dutifully found themselves husbands and begun producing children. The eldest, Julia Justinia, had two girls and two boys, all of which had successfully survived infancy (the youngest, Lucius, thanks to Mariana's intervention in his birth, of course). Flavia Lucretia hadn't been so fortunate at first, having lost two infants before birth and one after only a month, but eventually the Gods had favored her with a healthy son, now nearly four, and a year later a sister who followed him everywhere and adored him.

With their own younger brother as an example, she knew neither of her sisters – nor their husbands, one a junior Senator and the other a successful merchant – would make the mistake their own parents had made. On the other hand, Mariana was worried that they bent too far in the other direction, being far stricter with their offspring than she thought necessary. Still, what did she know? Here she was, twenty-one and still unmarried, a midwife and occasional dissectionist when one of Junius' patients died in such as manner as to require additional inquiry, raising her younger brother and running her parents former household – and now, off to purchase a slave for the very first time.

Junius had kindly offered to take on the duty, but she had only accepted his assistance in the matter. If she was to continue to run what was officially her brother's household until he came of age and married, then she needed to learn all aspects, even those she found personally distasteful.

Junius found her attitude toward slavery odd, but her father had shaped her views and he was kind enough not to comment on them. And she was grateful for his assistance; she had no experience in such things and there were many who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of her in such a situation. Just because she could tell when the butcher was trying to sell her an inferior cut of meat didn't mean she could do the same when it came to human flesh!

Ugh. She truly did wish there was some way a civilized society could function without slaves, but Rome had endured with such a system running smoothly for centuries and she supposed it always would. She sighed and made her way to the auctioneer's postings, in order to see what her options were before speaking with one of the slave masters. Junius was temporarily separated from her, speaking to a former army-mate he'd met. Mariana had assured him she would be fine, that she wouldn't even think of making a purchase without him, and even left her money in his care to further reassure him.

She'd left him happily exchanging remembrances with his comrade and boasting of his beautiful wife and their soon-to-be-born child, which had brought a warm, if somewhat envious, smile to Mariana's face. She hadn't entirely given up on finding someone to love, which was the only way she'd resolved to wed; her sisters had already gone the duty route and although they were happy enough, she knew that neither of them truly loved their husbands the way their own parents had loved one another.

An hour later Mariana was willing to admit to herself that she’d managed somehow to lose herself. None of the slaves being offered at the moment met her needs; there were no educated men young enough to keep up with her energetic younger brother, only men suitable for bodyguards or house servants. It was discouraging, to say the least, but as she dolefully looked over the day’s offerings, she overheard one of the employees mention to another that the ‘latest arrivals’ were being prepped, and her ears perked up. She’d then unobtrusively watched to see where the speaker went, and when no one was looking, followed after him.

Of course she’d promptly lost both him and her own way and was now in the areas where the general public wasn’t usually allowed. Especially not an unescorted unmarried woman! She’d heard tales whispered amongst her friends of young women going missing, sold into slavery for the perverted pleasures of dissipated members of the nobility, but had discounted them as nothing but salacious gossip. Now, however, as she glanced uneasily around her insalubrious surroundings, she couldn’t help but wonder if those tales might have had a grain of truth in them.

Only the knowledge that Junius would tear this place apart looking for her if she truly went missing kept her from falling prey to her own vivid imaginings. All she had to do was find her way back the way she’d come, then actually do the sensible thing and ask someone about the new arrivals. Which was exactly what she should have done in the first place.

Nodding firmly to herself, she drew her filmy white stole across her shoulders and headed back the way she’d just come.

Then she turned a corner, and saw him.

 

oOo

He was thin, underfed and filthy. His dark hair hung in tangled curls that were in desperate need of barbering, as was the scruffy beard on his face. However his eyes were the most unusual and arresting Mariana had ever seen, and she couldn't seem to bring her own gaze away from them. They were the blue-green of the ocean with flecks of amber, tilted in a cat-like manner and brimming with a fierce intelligence and an overabundance of fury and contempt. He spat out something in Brittonic that Mariana could only partially translate, none of which sounded particularly complimentary to the guard who was hauling him along by the chain attached to his manacles.

Without meaning to do any such thing, Mariana suddenly found herself in front of the guard, who stopped short with a bitten-off curse. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said in a reasonable attempt at courtesy. “I didn't see you there. Are you lost? Do you require assistance of some kind in finding your way to the public section of the market?”

That last was a thinly veiled grumble of discontent; those who ran the slave markets had no interest in potential customers taking a peek behind the scenes, as it were. Mariana knew this, and yet she'd allowed her curiosity to bring her here anyway. That, and something about the slave who was clearly on his way to be cleaned up and made presentable for potential buyers – or to be punished since it was obvious he was entirely uncooperative in spite of the fact that he could do nothing about his situation.

“How much?” She hadn't intended to ask the question, but it erupted from her mouth as if it had been waiting to be asked since the moment she laid eyes on the Briton. He and the guard both gaped at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head, but before either could say another word, a fourth voice was heard.

“By the Gods, it can't be! Sherlock? Is that truly you?”

It was Mariana's turn to gape with the guard at Junius as he appeared by her side. He was staring at the unkempt slave with an expression of a man seeing a ghost...or a long-lost brother. The slave – Sherlock? What a barbaric name, indeed! – was staring back, but the sullenness had vanished and a tentative smile now graced his features, revealing a set of straight, white teeth which Mariana was frankly surprised to see.

The smile transformed the man's face; already intriguing it became nearly beautiful and Mariana could feel her heart increasing as her body responded on a primal, basic level. She'd rarely felt such an attraction to another man – only once, as it happened, which had turned out to be nothing but a disaster as the object of her affection had not returned her feelings in the slightest. Yes, he'd wanted to marry her, but only because of her family's money and relatively high status. As soon as Mariana overheard him telling one of his cronies that he'd force her to give up her work both as a midwife and assisting Junius, she'd given him the boot.

As soon as her scattered wits gathered themselves again, Mariana turned to Junius with a gasp. “Sherlock? This is Sherlock, the one you told me about?”

The young Briton who'd once saved Junius' life, in an ambush outside Londinium near the end of Junius' term of service in the Roman army. Junius had nearly been killed, but his life had been saved by a young scholar who had prevented Junius from being bashed over the head with a rock due entirely to the fact that he'd recognized the centurion as a physician and felt that such learning shouldn't go to waste. He'd lingered long enough to ensure Junius' continued safety, introduced himself by his odd name, made some stunning inferences about Junius and his fellow soldiers – all of them true – and then vanished as Roman reinforcements rapidly approached the small group.

Junius had seen him again after that from time to time; Mariana recalled him telling her about those encounters with a wry grin and an expression of bemused affection on his face. “He even took it upon himself to advise me as to the best way to manage gangrene in Londinium’s damp climate, can you believe it?” And then, of course (after she’d pointedly asked), he’d been forced to admit that the young man’s advice had been of value, much as it pained him to do so. After all, Junius had been trained and educated in Rome, center of the known world, and Sherlock was a mere barbarian. A well-read barbarian, but a barbarian nonetheless.

A barbarian who now stood before them in chains, chattel to be bought and sold.

And Mariana Tullia Hortensius was determined to be the one to buy him.

 

oOo

It was a shock, seeing a face he’d never thought to see again in his lifetime. Thanks to the young man standing before him, Junius had lived to return to Rome, injured, limping, but alive. And here he was again, that same young man, chained, filthy, half-starved…and, if the Gods were willing, exactly the answer to Mariana’s predicament.

“Junius Hadrian Veturius,” Sherlock said, showing that he, too, recognized the man standing before him – and speaking in flawless Latin. “Physician no longer for the Roman army but in private practice and safely returned to Rome, which is good to see considering how much trouble I went through to save your life.” Junius grimaced at the not-so-subtle reminder that he owed this man a debt…and was currently in a unique position to repay it. Or would be if he actually had money of his own with which to purchase the young man. If he could, he would buy Sherlock and free him, but with a new baby coming his finances were going to be stretched thin enough. Besides, he’d long ago recognized that his marriage was much more of an equal partnership than typical Roman marriages, and if he did something like this without speaking to his wife first – no matter how confident he was that she would agree with him – he would be letting his own Mariana down.

One look at Mariana’s enrapt face, however, told him that his dilemma could easily be solved. “He’s well educated,” Junius said, ignoring Sherlock’s shocked expression. He would explain things to the lad later, after this transaction had been finalized. Mariana would be an excellent mistress; he would want for nothing and be allowed to share his knowledge with a young man who would benefit from leaning from someone outside the Roman Empire. Someone who would be critical, yes, but Junius firmly believed that blindly loving your homeland was almost as damaging as carrying hatred for it in your heart. “You couldn’t find a better tutor for your brother if you scoured the known world.”

Sherlock was clearly biting back the desire to snap out an insult, to deduce something devastating, but Junius silenced him with a stern glance. The guard, sensing a buyer who would be anxious to conclude the transaction as rapidly as possible, turned and gave a shrill whistle as another man hurried by, with the hunched shoulders and harried expression of a civil servant. “Villius!” the guard shouted. “Fetch Aelius Augustus!” The other man nodded and scurried off, back the way he’d come, clutching the armful of scrolls he carried close to his chest.

The guard turned to Mariana with an oily smile pasted to his pock-marked face. “My lady, would you care to wait inside while preparations are made? Your man here,” he nodded respectfully to Junius, “can stay to make sure the merchandise isn’t mishandled in the interim. I’m sure you’ll want him to check him over as well, although I can assure you he is disease free and healthy as an ox. Well educated, too, as your man already noted…”

“No, I think I’ll wait here, thank you,” Mariana replied with a sweet smile that failed to disguise the glint of steel in her eyes. Junius recognized that expression, and bit back a small grin at the sight of it; Mariana Tullia might seem like a typical, soft-spoken young woman, but she had a spine of pure iron and the stomach to match. If the auctioneer thought he was going to cheat her by so much as a sestare, he was in for a rude awakening.

The deal was concluded in record time; as predicted, Mariana didn’t allow the sellers to run roughshod over her, just because they could see how much she wanted to buy their merchandise. The only time Sherlock was allowed out of her presence was when he was taken to the baths and barber, and even then she insisted that Junius accompany him.

The moment the two of them were away from her, Junius attempted to explain why he hadn’t paid the purchase price himself, but the younger man simply glared at him before ignoring his presence as if the doctor wasn’t even there. Junius sighed quietly, resigned to being on the receiving end of Sherlock’s venom when he was no longer able to hold it inside – most likely after the purchase had been concluded and the three of them were on their way to the Hortensius household. Technically, of course, he was under no obligation to listen to any such words…but Sherlock was correct. Junius owed him a debt, and his inability to properly discharge that debt was already weighing heavily on his conscience.

He set aside such heavy thoughts as soon as they returned to Mariana’s side, opting instead to focus on his amusement at the sight of his young friend’s expression at the sight of a clean, barbered and neatly-clad Sherlock. The transformation, he had to admit, was notable; standing before them now was the same young man he recalled from his time in Brittania, although still with the unwelcome addition of manacles on his wrists. At least the wrists themselves had been bandaged, at Junius’ insistence. All the other physical outrages – the bruises and small sores that were inevitable in Sherlock’s present unhappy circumstances – would undoubtedly be looked at and taken care of by Mariana once she had him under her family’s roof.

He felt a stirring of uneasiness at the rapt expression her face took whenever she allowed her gaze to fall on Sherlock, especially when she thought he wasn’t seeing it. Yes, Junius himself had undoubtedly primed her interest by telling her stories of the brilliant young man who’d saved his life in Brittania, but her interest in him smacked as much of physical attraction as anything else. As a medical man, of course, he understood the need for both men and women to enjoy regular sexual stimulation for their health, but as a Roman citizen he also understood the need for Mariana Tullia’s reputation to remain spotless. Eventually she would marry, and for there to be even a whisper of gossip about her and the handsome young slave could be a disaster.

Only time would tell if such a situation played out, of course. The Hortensius servants and slaves were already treated better than some people treated their own family, and at the very least, if Sherlock showed himself a faithful and loyal tutor – after he’d resigned himself to his fate, of course – then he would be given those same considerations. If anything developed beyond that…well, it wasn’t up to Junius to worry about it. And it certainly wasn’t his place to say anything to Mariana Tullia about it, even if he was an old friend of the family and a doctor.

The sale concluded, the keys to Sherlock’s manacles were ceremoniously handed over to Mariana. She eyed the heavy iron chains, took in Sherlock’s tight-lipped expression, and handed the keys in turn to Junius. “If you don’t mind,” she murmured, unembarrassed by her admission of feminine weakness.

“My pleasure,” he replied with utmost sincerity, then turned to Sherlock and released him from his bonds.

In doing so, he made certain to catch the younger man’s eyes, knowing his own expression was a clear warning: try to run, try to do anything at all except come along with the two of us, and you’ll regret it.

Annoyance flashed in the blue-green orbs that met his, but ultimately Sherlock lowered his head in a sullen gesture of defeat. _For now_ , the set of his shoulders seemed to say, and Junius accepted that tacit admission of future defiance with a resigned sigh.

Mariana Tullia Hortensius was certainly going to have her hands full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no Roman family names starting with W, thus John Hamish Watson becomes Junius Hadrian Veturius. The Vigiles were a sort of firemen/police mashup created by Ceaser Augustus (during whose reign this story takes place) to deal with fires and criminal activities. Wikipedia has a good definition if you want to know more. :) I hope you enjoyed this newest addition to my stable of fics, and there is definitely more to come!


	2. Emebant et Vendebant (Bought and Sold)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to nocturnias for helping out with this chapter. Also please note that Sherlock's opinions of women and his dark and derogatory thoughts are entirely his own, because a man who has just been sold into slavery isn't in a happy frame of mind.

Sherlock raged internally, his mind practically tying itself into knots as he sought some way out of his current predicament. Intellectually he’d known what to expect the moment the first set of irons were clapped on his wrists back in Angle’s Land – he refused to call his home by the Roman name, Brittania – but knowing he was no longer his own man and actually being purchased by someone were two entirely different things.

He was especially furious with Junius Hadrian Veturius, the man who ostensibly owed his life to Sherlock, but who had so casually allowed this woman to purchase him.

Sherlock’s lip curled as he studied her slender form. Such a proper young Roman _dominae_ , he sneered to himself, ignoring the deductions that tried to flit through his mind in spite of his rage. He didn’t want to deduce that she was unmarried (and had never been married, still a _virgo_ , his mind easily supplying the Roman word for virgin just as it had for lady); that she was in charge of a wealthy household that included the younger brother he was supposedly to become the tutor for. Nor did he want to know that she was an accomplished midwife (she wore the symbol for her trade proudly, the silver pin holding her stole pinned to her soft blue chiton) and unusually independent for a _proper young Roman dominae_ , although she had elder siblings who…

No. He stopped the rushing tide of deductions with an effort, uncomfortable with the stirring of interest he was beginning to feel about his new owner. Instead he forced himself to concentrate on Junius, about whom he already knew a great deal and had no further need to deduce – beyond, of course, why the man disregarded what he should have seen as his obligation, a debt of honor to be discharged, and allowed Sherlock to be purchased at all.

His first thought – that Mariana Tullia Hortensius, as he’d discovered her name to be when she’d signed the contract rendering possession of his self over to her and her family – and Junius were lovers was, on closer examination, untrue. Their relationship, the more he studied it as they made their way to what was about to become his new ( _temporary_ ) home, seemed far more familial. Since Mariana’s father (deceased, as well as her mother) had been a physician, it wasn’t difficult to discern that the two men had been in partnership, and that Junius had known Mariana since childhood.

His scowl deepened. So he felt some sort of obligation to her as well, presumably one that superseded even the blood debt owed for the saving of his miserable, ungrateful life. Sherlock snorted in disgust; were Roman men, even former soldiers, so weak as to allow themselves to be twisted around by mere women? His brother would laugh his head off at the thought of failing in his duty to another man by putting the needs of a mere woman first.

His brother would certainly never do so. But then, Mycroft rarely put anyone’s needs ahead of his own. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; his brother rarely put any single person’s needs above those of the Clan. Even those of his own brother; if he had, then Sherlock wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. Oh, Mycroft had done what he could, Sherlock was certain of that, but even the most powerful Anglander was nothing compared to the might of the Roman Empire. 

Sherlock’s angry, resentful thoughts were interrupted by Junius’ overly-hearty voice announcing their arrival at the small donkey cart that was apparently their transport to his new – and, if he had anything to say about it, _temporary_ – residence. He waited as Junius solicitously handed Mariana up to the driver, a thin, pale youth with spotty skin and, unusually for a Roman youth, a scraggly beard. Possibly an attempt to cover up the pox marks, a sign of self-consciousness…cursing silently in every language he knew, Sherlock tried to shut down the buzzing of his brain. He was tired of constantly analyzing everything and everyone about him, and had no desire to learn anything about these people in particular, especially since he was literally forced into their company. Later, of course, he would need to know, as he plotted his return to Angle’s Land, but for now, he just wanted to be like everyone else, empty-headed and…

“This the new tutor, then? Don’t look like much.”

That was the driver, regarding him out of contemptuous, blood-shot blue eyes. Too much time spent in the company of wine and whores, the lad was going to die young if he didn’t…

“Vergilius, your opinion of Sherlock isn’t one I’m interested in at the moment,” Mariana snapped at him – slave, not a freedman or servant. And Mariana pronounced his name, ‘Sherlock’, with no hesitation, no mispronunciation, interesting…no, _not_ interesting, by the Gods! “Please take us to Junius’ surgery without the commentary.” She gave him a sharp look, raking him from head to foot in a manner Sherlock found disconcertingly familiar – only he was usually the one doing the deducing. To see mannerisms he’d heard described about himself, only being utilized by an attractive woman…wait, attractive? Where had _that_ come from? He must be more disturbed by his current circumstances than he’d realized.

Distracted by the apparent betrayal of his own mind – he prided himself on not noticing if a woman was pretty or not – it took him a moment to realize that Mariana was blasting the slave for having wine on his breath when she’d given him explicit instructions to remain with the cart and patient gray donkey (healthy, well-cared for, no signs of abuse or neglect) hooked up to it. “There are thieves who wouldn’t think twice about stealing an unattended cart and donkey in broad daylight, Vergilius Felix Hortensius, and you know it! Yet you walk away in order to sneak a few draughts of wine before the sun has even reached its zenith…” Her expression went from stern to distraught, and Vergilius’ sullen resentment dissolved instantly into distress as she said quietly, with a look of pain in her eyes, “I took a chance on you, when my sisters urged me to sell you because of your less savory habits. Please don’t make me regret not listening to them.”

Without another word, she took her place in the back of the cart, waiting silently as Junius indicated that Sherlock should join her, before he took his own place on the driver’s seat next to the now thoroughly cowed-looking driver.

After they started moving, Vergilius said in a low voice, “I..I’m sorry, missus. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

She sighed softly and continued to gaze sadly out at the passing scenery, such as it was in the bustling dockside markets of Rome. “I wish I could believe you,” she said, and to Sherlock’s surprise, he heard genuine regret in her voice.

Just as he’d heard genuine remorse in the slave’s voice. He spoke without meaning to: “You can believe him, he means it. Oh, he’ll have lapses, but he will try harder from now on, it’s obvious your words actually reached him this time. No doubt it was the slump in your shoulders and the sincerity of your sorrow at the thought of punishing him as your sisters would like you to. When you were being harsh he ignored the words and heard only the tone, which only served to feed his resentment.”

He fell silent as he saw Mariana openly gaping at him; he felt other eyes on him and half-turned to see Vergilius also staring at him in amazement. Only Junius’ eyes remained on the road, and he chuckled to himself before saying, “You’ll get used to that about Sherlock. He sees things others don’t. But not to worry, he swears it isn’t magic or evil spirits, just simple observation, and I believe him.”

For the first time since leaving the market, Sherlock met Mariana’s eyes. They went from wide with surprise to wary to neutral so rapidly others might have missed the flickering emotions, but not him. He knew his own expression betrayed nothing, at most the cool contempt that was his fallback position when indifference couldn’t quite be managed. Such as now. He’d unsettled himself, speaking when he’d fully intended on remaining silent. Not _pouting_ , as his brother would undoubtedly characterize it, just maintaining an aloof silence to let everyone know just how displeased he was with his current circumstances.

She opened her mouth, obviously about to ask him something, and he braced himself; she would want to know how a barbarian had got so clever or something equally inane. Instead, he was rather pleasantly surprised when instead she asked, “How many languages do you speak?”

“Fourteen,” he found himself replying, once again in spite of his intentions otherwise. “Eight more than you do, or possibly nine,” he added smugly.

Instead of taking umbrage with his insolence or demanding to know how he’d known she spoke anything other than Latin, his new _owner_ chose to focus on the conversation she’d initiated – and offer him a challenge at the same time. “Local dialects don’t count as languages.”

He eyed her narrowly as he huffed, “I’m not counting local dialects.” He switched to Greek and added, “If you wish to test me on my knowledge, I’m willing to start now.” Then he added something in Gaelic for good measure, confident it was one of the languages she didn’t speak: “May as well get some use out of me while you can, woman, since I doubt I’ll be in your hands for very long.”

That last was a calculated risk, but her reaction reassured him that he’d been correct about her ignorance of a language from what she undoubtedly would classify as a remote and backwards part of the mighty Roman Empire.

However, he saw Junius give him a sharp look and knew that the older man had recognized something in his words or possibly his tone. When he said nothing, Sherlock allowed himself to relax a bit; perhaps he was simply being paranoid. 

They passed the remainder of the ride in a continuation of the test of his abilities that Mariana had started. When they arrived the site of Junius’ medical practice, Mariana instructed Vergilius to continue with the remainder of the errands she’d apparently assigned him. Sherlock didn’t miss the eagerness in the lad’s demeanor as he promised to have them done in time to bring her home. She surprised him, however, when she informed him she and Sherlock would be walking the small distance; a pampered Roman female deigning to walk when she had alternate transport? Another interesting fact to file away in his mind, however unwillingly. 

He endured the physical examination Junius subjected him to without protest, even though he’d undergone almost exactly the same procedure – and at the same hands – not two hours earlier. Before his hair had been shorn to a proper Roman length (which he fully intended to allow to grow out again as soon as he was free), and the stubble on his chin and cheeks smoothed away for the first time in weeks. Yes, he was only being made presentable for his new owner, but he had to admit it had felt good to return to some measure of cleanliness after months of miserable conditions. But he refused to feel anything beyond that, certainly not gratitude. 

He unthawed only when Junius quietly introduced his wife, also named Mariana and quite heavy with child. He saw genuine warmth in the woman’s blue eyes when she looked at her husband, and a quiet sympathy when she greeted Sherlock that was entirely unfeigned…as well as a fierce intelligence that she quickly hid as soon as she realized she’d given it away to him. He smirked to himself, wondering if Junius realized that he’d married a woman who would no doubt equal any of the female warriors from his own homeland, then dismissed the thought; if the doctor didn’t know, then he didn’t deserve to have it pointed out to him. But this Mariana bore watching, for far different reasons than the woman who had purchased him and was now fussing over Junius’ wife, asking after her health and predicting how many (or few) weeks were left before the baby’s arrival.

When his own examination was over and the two women had withdrawn to a private chamber in order for Mariana Tullia to give Mariana Junius’ wife a more thorough looking-over, Junius ordered him – ordered him! – to sit on one of the low couches the Romans favored, taking his own seat opposite and pouring out two glasses of watered-down wine. “Drink this,” he said, handing Sherlock the first cup and taking a healthy swig of his own as he did so.

Sherlock took the cup and decided his thirst was more important than his desire to ignore any friendly overtures from the other man, sipping cautiously and pleasantly surprised to find that the wine was more than passable. 

“Don’t do it.”

Sherlock’s eyes rose to meet Junius defiantly. “Don’t do what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Run away. Don’t do it. You’re a slave now, Sherlock,” Junius said, speaking bluntly as was his wont. “There’s nothing that can be done about the situation at the moment, so you have to endure it. And running away won’t do you any good; you don’t know Rome the way you knew Londinium, and you’d just end up dragged back to the Hortensius household in chains, after a very public flogging and who knows what other humiliations.” He leaned forward with his elbow on his knee and narrowed his eyes. “You might even be branded, and if you try to run away more than once, Mariana’s sisters would be within their rights to declare you too troublesome and sell you off to work in the iron mines or someplace equally miserable, where you would be sure to die at a much younger age than I think you’d care for.”

His words hung in the silence, and John kept his eyes trained on the younger man’s as he took a slow, deliberate drink of his wine. Sherlock was obviously thinking about what he’d just been told, not simply dismissing it or scoffing the way he’d been earlier when Junius had tried to get through to him.

Good. The lad’s situation was not a good one, that much was true, and if Junius could do anything about it, he would. “I can’t buy you from them, Sherlock,” he said quietly, finally telling Sherlock what he’d tried to tell him at the slave market. “If I could, believe me, I would, but I have a wife and soon a child to care for, and although my medical practice is steady, I don’t have the cash for something as expensive as a slave that I would then be obligated to set free. I’m sure that sounds like a feeble excuse to you, but I have others to think about than myself, and that’s just the way it is. I’m sorry.”

The other man said nothing, simply swallowed the remainder of his wine and sat with his back ramrod straight on the low couch, eyes gone distant. Whether he was actually thinking about what Junius had just told him or not was unknown and unknowable, but the former military man hoped that was exactly what he was doing. Whether he forgave him or not was immaterial, although he found himself wishing that would happen eventually; what was important was whether he’d impressed Sherlock with the need to accept his fate, at least for now. 

With that in mind, he told him about the situation he was going into. That Aegyptus was a bright lad and wouldn’t need a tutor forever; that the Hortensius family was known for being generous when it came to manumitting their slaves and treating them like members of the family until they’d earned their freedom or were old enough to be allowed to retire peaceably to one of the family’s country estates. Even Mariana’s older sisters honored those family traditions, although they took a harder stance than she did in most other things. They certainly wouldn’t permit her to release a slave before his useful years had passed, not even for their father’s oldest friend and former partner.

He could see that Sherlock was listening to him again, although his eyes remained focused on some unseen point just past Junius’ left shoulder.

When he spoke, Junius wasn’t surprised that he sounded defiant, but there was a definite note of uncertainty beneath the arrogance. “I’m not stupid, Junius. I don’t care how complex Rome is. You don’t think I’ve already memorized the route between here and the slave market, and from there to the port?”

Junius nodded. “Oh yes, I’m certain you could. Just as I’m certain you’d eventually be caught and dragged back to the Hortensius household for punishment. Yes, you’re smart, Sherlock, but you weren’t smart enough to avoid capture in the first place, were you? Or to escape before being brought here?” The faintest flinch and flickering eyelids told him those shots, cruel but necessary, had hit home.” He paused to let those statements sink in before pressing on: “And the mines, Sherlock, although I’m certain a learning experience, wouldn’t exactly allow you to exercise your mind. You have to make a choice, weigh your options: would it really be better to risk an early death by hard labor, with your mind rotting away, than to endure a life tutoring a young man who I can assure you is eager to learn? Living in a household that will treat you well as long as you obey the rules and do your job? Working for those who will allow you to save any money you earn – and yes, I can assure you that Mariana will allow you to take on outside employment once you show yourself to be trustworthy and capable – to be put aside to eventually purchase your freedom? Or who will most likely grant it to you eventually?”

Junius knew when to stop talking, unlike certain other people, and lounged comfortably on his couch as he waited for his wife and Mariana to stop their gossiping – most likely about the exotic new slave – and return to the main lounge. As he did so he studiously ignored Sherlock, allowing him to mull over everything Junius had told him, and to contemplate exactly which future he preferred. Yes, there was a chance he could escape from Rome and make his way back to Brittania and Londinium, but he would be a fugitive, a runaway slave who would always have to look over his shoulder and sleep with one eye open at night. 

The two Marianas returned, laughing and chatting, while he finished his second cup of wine. Sherlock had declined his unspoken offer of another, placing his empty cup down on the low table sat between their respective couches as soon as he heard the women approaching. Junius rose to his feet, waiting to see if Sherlock would follow his silent lead and pleased when the younger man imitated him. Mariana would have someone instruct him in the proper protocols for their particular household, but Sherlock might as well get used to standing in the presence of his…well, ‘betters’ was probably not the right word, but Junius was hard-pressed to think of the appropriate word to use in its place. 

Mariana Tullia’s laughter died as soon as she saw the two men, and Junius was discomfited once again by the intensity with which she gazed at Sherlock. He’d never considered her a passionate woman; she’d always been so quiet and reserved in her dealings with members of the opposite sex, which admittedly he’d rarely seen. He remembered vaguely there’d been a betrothal at some point but she had broken things off when the young man turned out to be unsuitable for reasons that had never been disclosed. Was it after that that she’d turned cooler toward the idea of marriage, or had her parents’ deaths had something to do with it? He loved her like a daughter yet was caught off-guard by how little he knew her heart. 

Something about Sherlock had awoken something within her, that much was obvious, but whether that would turn out for the good or not remained to be seen. In the hands of the Gods, as the pious would put it, although he held very little stock in them himself, having witnessed too much of the brutality of the world to believe anyone was looking out for mankind.

He sighed inwardly as Mariana kissed his wife goodbye and did the same to him. He would have his own Mary caution her against the folly of taking up with a slave; men could get away with such, but if Mariana was ever found to have shared Sherlock’s bed or, Gods forbid, bear him a child, she would lose all status. Her sisters would turn her out and take over Aegyptus’ care, which would be disastrous for both of them. No, Mariana needed to be warned for her own sake, and his Mary’s word would be one she listened to.

He hoped. That look in Mariana Tullia’s eyes…it uncomfortably reminded him of how he’d first gazed at his wife when they were courting. Fascination and admiration that had quickly turned to an unbreakable love.

Shaking his head, he watched Sherlock and Mariana walking away from his surgery and home with an ache in his gut.

He just hoped the pair of them could manage their emotions better than they had been so far; he feared Sherlock wasn’t above using her attraction to him, once he noticed it, in order to further his own purposes.

“Husband?”

He glanced down as Mary wound her arm around his waist and laid her other hand on his chest. They were nearly of a height, and he loved how he didn’t have to look down at her in order to meet her eyes. “Something is troubling you,” she pronounced, and he closed the slight distance between them in order to press a soft, loving kiss to her lips.

“Perceptive as always,” he replied, taking her back into their private quarters and closing the door behind them. “Come to the garden and I’ll tell you all about it.” He glanced at her small smirk and added with mock-concern, “That is, whatever you haven’t already gleaned from Mariana Tullia, of course.”

Her tinkling laughter soothed his troubled soul as they strolled to the interior courtyard. His wife always could make him feel better, no matter what might be wrong.


	3. Donec a Secundis (A Favorable Homecoming)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters Appearing (Or Mentioned) In This Chapter:
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head servant - Procuratrix - in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius (Mariana Tullia's good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)

Mariana knew it was a bit of a risk, walking home with Sherlock, allowing him a small taste of freedom when it was clear he was contemplating fleeing, but her home was only minutes away and the street was a busy one, especially at this time of the day. It didn't surprise her when Sherlock commented on that very fact. "You don't actually trust me not to run away or attack you, yet you allow me to walk with you without being chained up or even escorted."

She kept her eyes straight ahead of her as they walked, not daring to look at him for fear of losing herself in those brilliant, beautiful orbs. The way they darkened and lightened as his mood altered, and as the sun struck them, bringing out flecks of gold amongst the blues and greens, was almost hypnotizing, and she needed to keep her new acquisition from realizing he held such a strong fascination for her if she ever wished to bring him to heel.

Such thoughts made her uncomfortable; since when did she use such terms as 'bring him to heel' even in her own mind when it came to a fellow human being? Her father would be ashamed of her, but there was something about Sherlock that fascinated her on a very basic, primal level, that made her want to simultaneously give herself over to him and have him under her control. Sexual relations between them were forbidden by law, utterly immoral…wait, why was she suddenly thinking about such things? She felt her cheeks flaming and was glad of her mantle, knowing it hid most of her face from his view.

"If you wish to run off and take your chances, there's not much I could do to stop you, whether you do so here or once we arrive home," she finally said. "It's not as if you will be chained to a wall once we arrive." She darted her eyes toward his left ankle, where the marks of his imprisonment still remained, covered by a neat white bandage applied by Junius Hadrian. "Our household is of modest size, and although I employ two guards, I'm afraid you're likely to be able to think circles around them and find them no deterrent."

She wondered if she was being too frank and honest at this moment, when it was just the two of them, but mentally shrugged her shoulders and plowed on; he would learn all of this soon enough, so there was no point in holding anything back. As she'd already pointed out, if he chose to run, there was little she could do to stop him. "None of us have personal bodyguards, although my sisters have been pressing me to find one for Marcus Aegyptus, someone to keep him from running off whenever he gets bored." She pulled a face at the myriad ways her sisters saw fit to interfere in what was ostensibly her own household. "Since you are hardly the aged scholar they expected when I was instructed to find a new tutor, I think they'll agree you'll fit the bill."

"As long as I don't simply encourage the lad to continue his wayward behavior and use it as an excuse to slip my own leash, is what you really mean," Sherlock said mockingly. Mariana turned to glare at him, and he scowled back at her in return. "Don't worry, Junius Hadrian made it quite clear that there would be consequences I would not enjoy if I were to be so foolish as to try and flee your custody."

She stopped, turning to face him, for once in her life discomfited by the need to crane her neck to look up at a man. Any disadvantage with Sherlock was bound to be exploited, she didn't need to know about him to know that much. "Give me your word that you'll try no such thing and I'll believe you," she said.  
His brow knit in obvious confusion, and she was pleased to once again have obviously confounded his expectations of her. "You'll trust my word?"

She nodded. "Yes. A man honorable enough to save Junius Hadrian from death simply because he valued his knowledge and skills as a physician is the sort of man who doesn't give his word lightly."  
She watched him studying her, truly studying her, for the first time since that first, electric meeting only a few short hours ago. His eyes lingered on her midwife's sigil, proudly worn as a brooch on her bright blue chiton, then examined her hands, held loosely at her sides, no doubt reading the calluses and scratches on her fingers the way other men might read a scroll.

When he finally met her eyes, there was a seriousness in them she hadn't seen before, although his lips were still twisted in a sardonic smile. "I give my word I will never take advantage of your brother in order to facilitate my own situation."

Not quite the promise she'd been hoping for, but it would do. For now. She nodded sharply and continued walking, pleased when he joined her rather than remaining stubbornly still…or running off the moment her back was turned.

Her thoughts were busy the remainder of the brief walk; quarters had already been set aside for the new slave, but her housekeeper, Marcia Faustina Hosidius, would need to find clothing to fit his tall, lanky form, as there was unlikely to be anything suitable in the house. Thinking of the housekeeper set Mariana's thoughts in a different direction, bringing to mind Marcia Faustina's cousin, whom the rest of the household had first met on one memorable occasion, when he'd brought Marcus Aegyptus home the first time he'd run off to seek adventure. Gaius Flavius Lartius was a captain in the local Vigiles, and every time her brother had pulled a similar stunt, it was he who brought the young boy back home. His stated purpose was two-fold: to return the boy, of course, but also to visit his cousin (and to eat a decent meal, judging by the greedy way he downed anything she put in front of him).

However, Mariana had her suspicions, since he also seemed quite smitten with her personal maid. Although Salonina Theodora Dossenius already had a suitor, a local barber, she seemed just as pleased with Gaius Flavius' flirtation. Mariana would have to keep an eye on the situation; both were freeborn, but as head of the household it was her duty to ensure that no immoral activities took place under her roof, a duty she'd always taken very seriously. As a midwife, she saw first-hand the results of such activities, especially since she'd formed a friendship with a local brothel owner, the _leno_ Eirene Sylvia Aedinius. No, she had no desire for her personal maid – and friend – to be forced into a marriage because the proper precautions hadn't been taken, or worse, to seek out the aid of an abortionist to help rid her of an unwanted child. Better the girl should follow Mariana's example and wait until marriage before allowing a man between her legs.

Of course, Salonina was only seventeen and Mariana a matronly twenty-one so she doubted her advice, were it to be offered explicitly, would be heeded. Especially since the younger woman had a breezy confidence around attractive men that Mariana had always envied. At least Salonina had the advantage of knowing that any suitors that came calling wanted her for herself and not for her family's money, Mariana thought bitterly, then chastised herself for doing so. Her romantic woes were in the past; she had a good life, a career many women would envy, a smoothly running (for the most part) household, and even if the new slave had the potential to be a troublesome one, she was confident she could deal with him, especially with Junius' help and insights.

oOo

They arrived at the Hortensius household with no trouble and no further conversation, although Mariana could practically feel the tension radiating off her new slave the closer they came. Once at the door, she turned to face him squarely. "This is your new home, Sherlock," she said, keeping her voice quiet and even; although this was the first time she'd had to give such a speech, she'd heard her parents make similar ones on several occasions while growing up. "You will be treated with courtesy and kindness, as long as you treat others the same way. Your duties will be fully explained to you, quarters have been prepared, and all necessities will be provided, from this day forth until the day you leave our service. Our obligation to you extends beyond that day, of course; as long as you have served well and faithfully, I can assure you, you will never lack for anything you need."

As if on cue, the door opened as soon as she finished speaking, to reveal the beaming face of Marcia Faustina. "Welcome home, Domina!" she exclaimed, pulling the door wide and stepping aside to allow them entry. "And welcome to you as well!" she added, smiling at Sherlock, although there was a puzzled expression in her eyes. No doubt due to Sherlock's youth, but Mariana would fill her in on the necessary details as soon as she had the opportunity. "I am Marcia Faustina Hosidius, Procuratrix for the Hortensius family, and I look forward to helping you learn how we do things here." A hint of steel made itself known with that statement, the housekeeper's subtle way of telling the newcomer that no shenanigans would be tolerated.

His response was a smirk, an expression Mariana predicted she would quickly find tiresome, but he merely inclined his head in thanks and followed silently as they finally entered the house.

After showing him where he would be sleeping (and noting the slight lip-curl he had in response to seeing the small, sparse quarters), Mariana decided it would be best to introduce him to her brother, and so brought him to the large interior courtyard where she knew Marcus Aegyptus would currently be spending time. Her assumption was proved correct as they entered the sunny space, hearing shouts of childish laughter and the answering barks of a dog. Oh, she'd forgotten to tell Sherlock about the dog, but shrugged it off. It really didn't matter how he felt about pets, although she had some vague idea that most barbarian cultures kept dogs only as hunters and rat-catchers.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the dog came bounding up to them, Marcus Aegyptus panting after him. He stopped short at the sight of the newest addition to the household standing by his sister's side, eyes wide and bright with curiosity. "Is this my new tutor?" He wrinkled his nose as Mariana nodded. "He doesn't look like much."

"Nor do you, to be honest," Sherlock replied before Mariana could say anything. "We both need a haircut and a change of clothes."

Ignoring Marcus Aegyptus' scowl – and Mariana's hastily-hidden smirk – he sank down on his haunches and held out his hand to the dog to be sniffed. "Your dog is clean and well cared for, a good sign."

"A good sign of what?" Her brother sounded curious rather than truculent, which was an ever better sign, in Mariana's opinion, which she kept to herself, allowing Marcus Aegyptus and Sherlock to interact without interference from her.

"That you understand responsibility," Sherlock replied easily. Mariana was amazed; she'd thought he would be as curt and surly with her brother as he'd been with everyone else to whom he'd spoken today, but it appeared that some part of whatever Junius had advised him when the two men spoke in private had sunk in after all. "Even in a household with as many servants and…slaves…as this one, care and feeding of a personal pet would be assigned to whoever the pet belonged to. He is clearly your dog, ergo you have the responsibility of seeing to his needs." The hesitation before the word 'slave' was slight, but Mariana noted it and felt a twinge of guilt, which she swiftly buried. It wasn't her fault he'd landed in whatever circumstances had led to him being sold into slavery (it was obvious he wasn't born into such a state), and she'd already assured him that his life here would be no hardship as long as he performed his duties well and faithfully.

Her brother, meanwhile, was gaping at Sherlock in open amazement. "I guess you're cleverer than you look," he said after a moment, lips stretching into a delighted grin. Mariana cringed inwardly; even if Sherlock was a slave, she'd already lectured her brother many times on the proper way to speak to his elders – and would be doing so again, it appeared. "You're right; Mariana would never allow me to keep him if I didn't care for him properly. She'd send him out to the country to live with my cousins or something." His lip curled at the thought, his opinion of that option clear as daylight.

Sherlock grinned right back at him, and Mariana had to remind herself that staring at his face, no matter how much more attractive it became when he did so, was improper, not to mention rude. Still, she would treasure that first glimpse of a smiling Sherlock, and secretly hoped to see that smile again sometime soon…preferably directed at her.

"His name is Barbarossa," Marcus Aegyptus introduced the dog solemnly as he continued to study the new tutor through the fringe of curls dangling over his forehead. He was well past due for a good barbering, but threw such outlandish fits when anyone came near him with the shears that Mariana had about given up on him. She stifled a grin as she realized she could actually decree such duties to be under the new tutor's purview, and imagined he'd find it not at all to his liking were she to do so.

She wasn't sure what it was about the newest member of the household that made her want to simultaneously kiss and throttle him, although his thorny tongue and air of continual irony were part of it. As were his ethereal good looks, his sea-colored eyes, and his own unruly head of dark curls, so very like her brothers now that she was seeing the two of them together for the first time.

Sherlock was currently petting the dog whose coat was indeed of a reddish hue, although of course he had no true beard to merit the full meaning of the name her brother had chosen. "It's a fine name for a fine beast," Sherlock pronounced, offering Marcus a half-smile, which her brother responded to with a wide grin as he reached out to scratch behind his dog's ears.

Mariana felt a wave of relief flow over her; the first meeting was going well, Sherlock was showing no signs of being uncomfortable or unpleasant – although only time would tell – and Marcus Aegyptus was even behaving himself. She wondered if the liking they seemed to share would last, and hoped it would. Her brother hadn't responded nearly half so well to any of his other tutors, and she breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he proceeded to show Sherlock the small toy army he'd set up under the shade of the courtyard's carefully nurtured olive tree.

Mariana debated whether it would be better to introduce Sherlock to the rest of the staff or allow him to continue getting acquaint himself with Marcus Aegyptus. In the end, she decided to leave them be; Sherlock was behaving himself and her brother seemed happy enough to explain the strategies and tactics his miniature Centurions were employing to his new tutor. The fact that Sherlock appeared to be taking the boy's explanations seriously was another good sign, and she breathed out a silent prayer to the Gods that his prickly attitude seemed to have abated for the moment.

She did not, however, try to fool herself for one minute into believing that this alteration in demeanor was in any way a permanent one; Sherlock had far too many rough edges, was filled with a rage she recognized all too easily as one that would not easily be tamed.

 _Tamed_. There she was again, thinking of him in terms of some sort of exotic new pet she'd acquired, rather than an intelligent tutor who would be responsible for her brother's education from now on. She wished her mind would order itself properly and stop dwelling on the beauty of his sea-green eyes, or the perfect Cupid's bow of his lips, the marble-like paleness of his body…

Oh, she was past due for a private session with one of the special devices Eirene Sylvia had given her, in order to purge herself of the arousal she was more than half-way to feeling! Her father would lecture her for having neglected her health so terribly, and she resolved to deal with the issue before retiring for the evening to her private quarters.

However, she had a feeling that the object of her fantasies would be the very man now kneeling on the grassy area carefully maintained in the center of the courtyard. And she doubted very much that he would be discussing toy soldiers or dogs at that time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Note: The Vigiles - or more properly the Vigiles Urbani ("watchmen of theCity") or Cohortes Vigilum ("cohortsof the watchmen") were the firefighters and police of Ancient Rome. They were organized in the AD 6 by Augustus, the first Roman Emperor.
> 
> Salacious Note: One of the Roman beliefs about sex was that, although unmarried women were supposed to remain chaste and virginal, if they weren't getting regular sexual pleasure they would fall ill. I took this idea and ran with it for this story, lol.
> 
> Oh, and a leno is a female brothel owner. And "Domina" means "Mistress" but not in an Irene-Adler sort of way.


	4. Quomodo Vincat Profugus Est? (How Do You Conquer A Fugitive Heart?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mutual musings, some mutual masturbation, some mutual BDSM fantasizing.  
> Latin translations in the end notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing in or mentioned in this chapter: 
> 
> John Watson – Junius Hadrian Veturius (former army doctor whose life was once saved by a young Brittonic scholar/soldier named Sherlock)
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's sisters – Flavia Lucretia and Juliana Justinia
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Bill Wiggins – Vergilius Felix Hortensius (General dogsbody and errand boy for the Hortensius family, a slave)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia’s eventual lover)

Six weeks after bringing Sherlock home, Mariana was cautiously optimistic at how easily the prickly young slave had settled into his new life. He and Vergilius had become fast friends despite their initial disdain for one another, and Mariana had given permission for the younger man to join her brother in his studies when not busy with his own chores. For the first time since her father had purchased him, Vergilius showed an interest in learning to read and write, which gave Mariana cause for quiet rejoicing as his previous preoccupation with wine and whores had dropped dramatically at the same time. She’d always despaired over the youth’s inability to rein in his baser instincts and do anything to better himself in spite of the opportunities first her father and then she herself had offered him.

Slaves in the Hortensius household rarely remained slaves for more than ten years, as her father had always been generous in allowing them to earn money as long as it didn’t interfere with their duties to the family. In fact, he’d even paid them for taking on additional duties outside their usual purview, which Mariana knew many of her father’s fellow _equites proprium_ found a scandalous and wasteful practice. It was one, however, of which she wholeheartedly approved, and honored to the best of her abilities. Her sisters’ husbands had attempted to restrain that tradition once their parents died, but it was one area where Flavia Lucretia and Juliana Justinia allowed her to make her own decisions without second-guessing her.

Since first meeting Marcus Aegyptus, Sherlock had become the model slave, with only two exceptions: he and her personal maid, Salonina Theodora, couldn’t seem to get along no matter how many times she reprimanded the pair of them, which Mariana found exasperating but understandable. Because to her secret amusement, the two of them were very much alike in spite of the outward differences between them.

The second matter was much less amusing, and Mariana dreaded the day it crossed the line from slightly annoying to outright insolence: the way he spoke to her, personally. There was no open mockery or disobedience in his words or aspects, but it was always there, simmering below the surface.

She sincerely hoped that he managed to stay on the right side of that line for as long as he was in her family’s service. Which, she thought glumly, might not be very long at all, since he’d already found a way to earn his own money. It was common practice, one he’d taken ruthless advantage of but one that she could hardly find fault with. After all, she’d been the one to give him permission to assist Gaius Flavius Lartius with matters of public safety, since the two of them had formed a friendship that surprised her at first…until she realized that they’d bonded over their mutual affection for Marcus Aegyptus, the catalyst for their first meeting two weeks after Sherlock’s arrival. The earnings did not come directly from the Vigiles, of course, but from grateful clients whose stolen goods or missing children had been returned to them with Sherlock’s assistance.

The thought of him one day buying his freedom caused an ache in her heart that Mariana did her best to ignore; he was a slave, and even if he was freed tomorrow, he was still off-limits to her. Even though she’d literally spent many hours over the past six weeks imagining him between her legs, envisioning him doing some truly filthy things to her when appeasing her lusts in the privacy of her bedroom ( _for her health_ , she reminded herself even as she flushed at the memory of some of those sessions), she knew the hard realities of their situation: he could be severely punished for sullying her purity if anyone of authority found out, and she could be ostracized or worse. The thought of losing her status as a valued _maia_ , being forced out of a calling she’d treasured her entire adult life, was enough to chill her ardor…at least during the daylight hours.

The nights, on the other hand…oh, how she dreamed of him, waking and sleeping; kissing him and being kissed in return, their naked flesh pressed together, his mouth on her breasts and private parts, her hands exploring his manhood (which she’d accidentally glimpsed once when he’d strolled out of his room stark naked, entirely absorbed in the scroll he’d been reading and unaware of where he was until she’d loudly cleared her throat)…oh, the nights were torture to her right now. Aside from the need to maintain public decorum, the only thing keeping her from inviting him into her chambers was the clear disdain with which he still held her. He stopped short of outright mocking or disobeying her, but there was a coolness in his manner toward her, the lurking sensation that he obeyed her not out of respect but only because the consequences would be uncomfortable to him personally, that continued to dismay her.

She thought back to a conversation they’d had just that morning, when she’d commandeered him for the sole purpose of teaching him a lesson for some slight he’d given her while pretending not to. They’d been strolling along the Via Pigmentarii, his arms laden with packets of varying sizes while she fidgeted with her the many bangles Salonina had insisted on burdening her with since she was going out in public, when Sherlock spoke up. “Why?”

Mariana glanced at him sidelong; he hadn’t said a word to her the entire hour they’d been out, not unless she had asked him a direct question. His tone was abrupt but not insolent, and so she was willing to respond. “Why what?” 

“Why do you treat me so…well?” He sounded frustrated, annoyed; clearly this question had been preying on him for some time. 

Mariana shrugged. “I treat you as well as I treat all the slaves in our household.”

“Even though I am not as obedient as you would like me to be,” he said, his tone sharpening in that way that set her teeth on edge. So much for the pleasant outing to replenish her medicinal stocks. “Shouldn’t you have had me beaten by now? I know you’ve been advised to do so by your sisters,” he added bitterly.

“Why?” she asked, stung at his belief that she was…what, weak? Did he see her restraint as a weakness? Annoyance sharpened her tone as she asked, “Is that what you thought would happen to you once I purchased you? Did you think that just because I am a Roman that I abuse or mistreat all of my slaves? Did you think you would get a flogging every morning before breakfast?”

He snorted before the sound could be silenced, then shrugged as she glared at him, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he responded. “Your sisters seem to think that would be more appropriate.”

“They run their households as they see fit, and I run mine as my father and mother taught me,” she snapped, further annoyed that he would keep bringing her elder sisters into the conversation. “True, it’s not the most conventional method, and there have been occasional problems…”

“Understatement,” Sherlock muttered.

“So now you think I am incapable of keeping order in my house, do you?” Maria said, raising an eyebrow. His earlier impertinence was returning a bit, and she couldn't allow that. “Maybe you do need a flogging,” she muttered under her breath in an obscure Grecian dialect her father favored.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in turn. “Perhaps,” he replied in the same tongue, “if that's what you like for breakfast.”

Both of them looked shocked by their words, and glanced down. Maria cleared her throat. “I think it's time we finished our errands. Come along.” She turned into the entrance to their destination, Sherlock right behind her. The rest of the journey was spent in silence, and once home they went their separate ways, Sherlock to take up his usual duties and Mariana to hide herself in her private chambers until called out to assist with a difficult delivery.

That night, after the rest of the household had retired with the exception of the doorman on duty, she walked the corridors as was her usual habit. She refused to dwell on her reasons for lingering outside Sherlock’s door longer than she should have, although she did have to remind herself that spying on members of one’s household was rude and showed a lack of trust that none here deserved.

Even him. Even though she could see the light spilling beneath his door, indicating that he was burning oil so he could stay up late reading again. For a split second she considered knocking on the door and ordering him to sleep, as he would have a full day with Marcus Aegyptus tomorrow, then forced herself to walk away. He rarely slept, from what she’d seen of him, and since he continued to perform his duties in an exemplary manner, she was hardly in a position to condemn him for furthering his studies.

After she retired to her own chambers for the night, she still couldn’t get him out of his mind. She pictured him lying on his bed, a scroll in those long, elegant hands of his, brow furrowed as he picked out some nuance of the text that most people would miss after a lifetime of readings, and smiled to herself at the image. If he disagreed with something in the text his nose would wrinkle and he might toss it aside with a disgusted huff, ruffling his curls in that way he had when especially frustrated with the stupidity of others.

Without realizing she’d done so, Mariana’s hands drifted across her abdomen and down her body, rubbing lightly at her female center as she continued to picture Sherlock in her mind. Perhaps he, like herself, was entirely nude right now; perhaps he wasn’t reading at all, but rather pleasuring himself as all men did, one hand wrapped around his…

Mariana gasped in dismay as she realized she was doing it again, using thoughts and images of her slave to bring pleasure to her body. It was so very wrong, yet she couldn’t stop herself if she tried. Her fingers slid along her increasingly-wet channel, her thumb finding the hidden pearl that was the key to a woman’s deepest physical pleasure. She imagined Sherlock’s hands gliding along her body, touching her where she was currently touching herself, and felt the rising tide of pleasure preparing to carry her over the edge.

An edge she’d had no intention of even approaching tonight. Then an image of herself with the ceremonial flogger she’d purchased upon taking up the duties as head of her brother’s household came unbidden to her mind. She pictured Sherlock’s naked form kneeling before her, his head bowed submissively as she caressed his shoulders and lovely, toned backside with the weapon’s blue-dyed leather points, and her body fell to pieces; she let out a low, keening wail and collapsed, arms and legs falling limp as the aftershocks poured through her.

It was the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced; as her trembling finally ended, she rolled onto her side and curled into a tight ball, unwilling to contemplate just why the thought of truly dominating her slave excited her so.

oOo

Sherlock didn’t understand what it was about Mariana Tullia that unsettled him so much. Yes, a large part of it was the fact that he’d been torn from his life and forced into slavery, but that was a risk he’d long ago accepted as a possibility if he continued on his course of assisting those determined to remove the Romans from Angle’s Land. He’d just calculated it would happen more on the ‘later’ side than the ‘sooner’, and part of his dissatisfaction could be traced to chagrin that he’d been wrong…and his elder brother had been right.

However, if he had to endure this exile from home and life of forced servitude, at least he’d landed in a favorable position. Well, as favorable as he could hope for. Certainly it was as Junius had promised; Mariana Tullia was an exemplary mistress.

The problem was, he found his mind occupied more and more with a desire to make that title more than simply ceremonial.

Physical desire, the base need to drive his cock into a female’s cunt, had always been something he’d disdained. It distracted one from the mind, from intellectual pursuits, and his readings of Plato and Porphyry only further convinced him that his decision to abstain from such activities was the right one. He’d lived a quarter of a century without being tempted by anyone, male or female, into pursuing such earthy avenues.

Until now.

Mariana Tullia Hortensius was the one person who could distract and unsettle him when he most craved control. And it wasn’t even that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen; she would willingly admit she wasn’t even the most beautiful woman in her own household; he’d once overheard her laughingly ceding that honor to her personal maid, the infuriating (although not in a sexual manner) Salonina Theodora Dossenius. 

He considered the two women, frustrated and confused by his differing reactions to the two of them, the scroll he’d been attempting to study lying forgotten on his lap. His duties had been discharged for the day; Marcus Aegyptus was in bed, the rest of the household was settling in for the night, and he was using some of his precious private store of lamp oil to try and settle his mind by reading.

So much for that thought. Images of Salonina and Mariana flitted through his mind as he considered why the one only roused his irritation and the other roused his…more primal instincts. Salonina was slightly younger, with dusky skin, dark eyes and tightly kinked black hair betraying her African origins. Mariana was fair skinned and brown eyed, her hair a luscious fall of chestnut brown.

He scoffed at himself; even when trying to be impartial his rebellious mind still found ways to conjure overtly flattering descriptions of her. Salonina was tall, Mariana was petite. Both women held positions of power over him, although arguably the servant’s status wasn’t that much over his that it made any real difference. Salonina was loud and rather vulgar, his Mariana was much more soft-spoken and refined even when glowering at him with anger.

Without realizing it, his lips curved into a soft smile as he remembered how upset she had been with him this very day, forcing him to act as her carry-all as she ran her various errands in the markets. He’d purposefully not spoken a word to her unless spoken to, sulking a bit when she refused to become exasperated with his clipped responses and prolonged silences. It was almost as if it were a game between them, one she enjoyed as much as he did.

And then he’d broken his self-imposed silence to ask the one question that had been puzzling him ever since he’d grown resigned to his new life. A simple question, yet so complex.

 _Why?_ Why didn’t she treat him as she’d been advised to, as others – including Junius Hadrian Veturius, whom he still hadn’t entirely forgiven – had warned him he should and could expect?

Why, when he’d finally goaded her into exasperatedly muttering that perhaps she should give him a flogging, had the conversation stopped feeling like a simple quest for information or even a verbal fencing match, and more like a…flirtation?

And most disturbing of all, _why_ had he felt that odd tightening in his body at the fleeting idea of her flogging him?

Sherlock’s mental musings came to an abrupt end as his traitorous body, no doubt overstimulated by the undisciplined wanderings of his mind, brought itself to his attention in an unpleasant (but not entirely unexpected) manner.

He had an erection.

He gazed down at his body as if staring at a foreign object rather than the housing for his superior intellect, feeling betrayed and outraged. He was further outraged when he realized his hands had crept downward until one palm was cradling his bollocks and the other was encircling his engorged penis. When had he lost so much control over himself, that the mere thought of a single woman could undo him so completely?

Mmm, a single woman who was in possession of a personal flogger that she’d never actually had reason to use on anyone since she’d purchased it. Which she’d done immediately after taking charge of the Hortensius household. It had a plain black handle and a bundle of vibrant blue tails with tightly knotted points at the end…

“Merda!” he swore, angrier at himself than he’d been since being captured by the Roman patrol that fateful night twelve weeks earlier. He flopped onto his back and glared at the ceiling, attempting to banish such ridiculous thoughts from his mind…and failing miserably. Finally, with a disgruntled huff, he groped for the small bronze snuffer and put out the lamp.

As his room fell abruptly into darkness his hands once again made their way southward, and he grudgingly gave into his body’s urgent need for release.

If it was an image of a naked Mariana wielding that specific flogger that brought him to his release several intense, sweaty minutes later, that wasn’t something he would ever acknowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Via Pigmentarii – Street of the Apothecaries
> 
> Maia – Midwife
> 
> Via Pigmentarii – Street of the Apothecaries
> 
> Merda – feces (that one was probably really easy for folks to figure out, lol)
> 
> Equites Proprium – Property-knight (commoners who attained the property-threshold, and were accorded Knightly status and regalia by Augustus, but…were not eligible to enter the Senate or hold the public posts reserved for [hereditary] Knights). (via Wikipedia)


	5. Servus Molestam (A Troublesome Servant)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's sisters – Flavia Lucretia and Juliana Justinia
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Molly's (deceased) parents – Flavia Tullia Hortensius and Apollonius Gaius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion, also Marcia Faustina’s cousin)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius (Mariana Tullia’s good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia’s eventual lover)

The next day found Mariana away from home, and rather glad to be far from the man who propriety and decorum dictated she should have no feelings for. Other than appreciation for his skills as a tutor, of course, although it was his other, far more intimate skills she couldn’t stop wondering about, fantasizing over almost to the point of obsession.

Thus she found herself confessing her conflicted feelings to her friend Eirene Sylvia Aedinius while sipping the cup of sweet wine the other woman had provided for her. The two were relaxing and gossiping after Mariana had accomplished her purpose in visiting the _lupanar_ , checking on one of the _lena’s_ girls who was pregnant with her first child. 

To be employed even peripherally at a brothel would normally be considered quite a scandal in society’s eyes, but she and Eirene had an…unusual relationship. The fact that Mariana’s father had regularly treated the brothel’s employees and slaves had helped to regularize the relationship; that much was public record. What was not public record, nor even officially recognized by anyone but Mariana’s father and Mariana herself, was that Eirene was also his daughter. Although the two women were dissimilar in appearance – Mariana strongly resembled her late mother – no one could deny who Eirene’s father was once seeing the two of them together. 

In spite of the fact that Eirene’s mother had been a slave, and therefore she could never be acknowledged as his child, Apollonius Gaius Hortensius had done the best he could for her when she was born, and for the few years after that event that he’d been allowed access to her. However, her mother’s owner had then sold the two of them when his fortunes had crumbled, and Eirene had been separated from them until her father had been unexpectedly begged to assist an injured slave at the _lupanar_ where Eirene had been put to work, having been sold there by her mother’s second owner when she was fourteen.

From that moment on, she and Mariana, who had been accompanying her father and acting as his de facto nurse when he visited a wealthy patient with an unfortunate habit of overestimating his capacity for wine, had become fast friends. And when Eirene – with their father’s surreptitious financial assistance – had been able to buy her freedom and purchase the brothel for her from its previous owner, she had asked Mariana to act as midwife to any of her girls that were unlucky enough to become pregnant during the course of their professional activities.

A shadow crossed Eirene’s eyes as her half-sister spoke; she of course was intimately familiar with how much contempt a slave could have for even the most lenient of owners, which Mariana most certainly qualified as. However, she was also a pragmatist; Roman society functioned as it did and there was not much two women could do to change things outside their own private sphere of influence. “Does he deliberately disobey you or counter your orders?” Eirene asked, taking a sip of her own wine before dismissing the hovering serving girl holding the flagon.

Mariana shook her head. “No, he’s never gone so far as to openly disobey me. And he’s wonderful with Marcus Aegyptus, I can certainly find no fault with his skills as a tutor.” Nor could her sisters, who had come down to inspect the ‘acquisition’ a few weeks earlier, and only recently left, much to the household’s collective relief. Mariana wasn’t the only one who found them wearisome company. They’d been doubtful of his age and taunted her that she’d chosen him for his beauty, but had been forced to admit that he was doing an exceptional job in ‘civilizing’ Marcus Aegyptus, who had been polite to them and their husbands, and played nicely with his cousins, for the first time ever. And all due to Sherlock’s influence. “Marcus Aegyptus adores him, and Marcia Faustina loves him like a son, and yet…”

“And yet he still manages to annoy you?” Eirene took another sip of wine in order to hide her amused smile. A smile that widened as Mariana’s cheeks pinkened. “Oho,” Eirene chuckled. “He doesn’t merely ‘annoy’ you, does he?”

Mariana blushed darker as she dropped her arm over her eyes dramatically. “I don’t understand why I want him so badly,” she mumbled, feeling easier about confessing such a thing when she couldn’t see her half-sister. 

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Eirene said. Mariana peeked out from under her arm to give the other woman a cautiously enquiring glance. “You’ve spent the last half-hour talking about Sherlock, how he irks you and how he amuses you; praising him and fretting over him – and you were remarkably detailed in your descriptions of his looks as well as his intellect.” She smirked. “When was the last time you had a man under your skirts?” She raised a hand as Mariana sat up and glared at her. “Don’t worry, little mouse, I already know the answer, and it’s never, isn’t it. Never even been to one of my boys to help you ease some of the frustration that builds up when you’re an unmarried, virtuous woman.”

Her tone was gently teasing, but Mariana blushed knowing what Eirene was implying. It was a commonly held belief that both men and women needed regular sexual pleasing in order to remain healthy; it had even been one of her father’s duties to provide such stimulation when female patients complained of excessive restlessness. He’d explained it to Mariana when she overheard him speaking to her mother about it once, when she was about eleven or twelve, and had been furiously embarrassed when he implied that such things were to ensure a woman’s health – and that she would soon be tutored by her mother in the proper methods of stimulation, a memory she still blushed at nearly ten years later! 

She still wasn’t sure she entirely believed it to be true, that both women and men would fall ill if they weren’t regularly pleasured to the point of orgasm, but she had dutifully listened as her mother instructed her on the matter. Since that day she’d been entirely responsible for taking care of herself since the thought of either another doctor or a male prostitute doing it for her left her decidedly queasy. Fortunately since Eirene’s return into her life she’d learned some techniques her parents might not have approved of, but that was strictly between the two women. “I make sure to keep myself properly stimulated,” she reminded Eirene, cheeks flushing but her voice steady and even somewhat icy.

Eirene leaned forward and grinned in delight. “Yes! That’s it exactly, that tone and expression right there, Mariana! You must learn to wield your power over this boy in exactly that manner!” She clapped her hands as if her friend had just recited a difficult poem. Her expression turned serious as she dropped her hands back to her lap, and added, “or else I’m afraid he’ll continue to run roughshod over you, slave or no slave. No matter how many beatings you give him for insolence, if you continue to mix the messages you’re sending him, he’ll never be brought to heel.”

Mariana opened her mouth to protest that she was doing no such thing, then thought back to their most recent conversation and closed it. “I suppose I have been doing that,” she admitted. “You have to meet him, Eirene, so you can understand better…or,” she added with a slightly bitter laugh, “at least, help me understand better!” She turned and sat up, no longer comfortable lounging, too restless at the direction the conversation had taken. “It’s not just that he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, even underfed and unwashed as he was when I first laid eyes on him,” she said quietly. “And it’s not even his fierce intelligence or how kind he is to my brother…or how sharp he is when the little brat needs it!” she added with a small chuckle, which Eirene joined with one of her tinkling laughs. “It’s all of that and something more, something I can’t define or pin down.” She glanced at the other woman from beneath her lashes before making her final confession: “I actually…think I like it when he defies me. Because it gives me an excuse to argue with him. And that’s wrong, I know it must be!” She buried her face in her hands, awash in so many conflicting emotions she felt overwhelmed.

The rustle of fabric and the light, sweet scent of Eirene’s perfume told Mariana the other woman had moved; the feel of her friend’s hand on her shoulder and the slight dip in the couch told her she’d joined her. “It’s all right,” Eirene said soothingly. “Men say women cause confusion in their hearts, that we stir their lusts until they can’t control them; they blame us, but the truth is, they do the same thing to our hearts and loins, but we’re taught that such feelings are wrong.”

“We will work this out,” Eirene said quietly, pulling Mariana into her arms for a warm embrace. She was the elder of the two by a mere six months, but still felt a responsibility for her younger half-sister, who seemed so innocent by comparison. But then, she’d lead a much more sheltered life, with two parents who loved her. Eirene tamped down on the automatic surge of bitterness that arose in her heart at the thought of different their lives had been; Mariana wasn’t to blame for the way things were. She and their father had both included her in their lives far beyond what the law and propriety said was acceptable.

That very ability to see slaves as human beings, to feel for them, was also the root of Mariana’s current problem. Well, that and the fact that, judging by the descriptions she’d been given so far, the young man in question was handsome and well built. Although Mariana hadn’t been fortunate when it came to the gifts of Venus, she hadn’t let the past scar her or turn her bitter. Eirene knew herself to be incapable of loving any man after the life she’d been forced to endure, and the idea of her half-sister falling into such bitterness was one she was privately resolved never to allow.

She also privately resolved to meet the slave in question, to judge for herself how well suite and Mariana actually were; as long as they were discreet and took the proper precautions against pregnancy (precautions Eirene rather sourly wished her girls were better at remembering), there was no reason for them to indulge their mutual passion for one another.

If, of course, Eirene cautioned herself as Mariana rose to her feet and prepared to return home, she wasn’t entirely misreading the situation. The passion could entirely be one-sided, but the things Mariana said about Sherlock seemed to indicate that he felt the same pull as his mistress.

A visit to the household on some pretext or other – preferably when Mariana was away – might be called for. Or perhaps a visit to the Vigiles, where Sherlock was allowed to assist in crime solving…

Her mind full of schemes and plans, Eirene murmured her distracted farewells to Mariana, watched her leave and then immediately set about organizing her mind in order to rally the best plan of action.

oOo

Unaware of her half-sister’s thoughts on her personal situation with Sherlock, Mariana returned home, only to discover that Marcus Aegyptus was causing quite a stir. When the dust had settled, she found herself alone with Sherlock, watching as her younger brother stormed off in a temper. He’d demanded to be allowed to accompany Sherlock and Gaius Flavius on some excursion or other; Sherlock had told him ‘no’ and Mariana had been forced to intervene. She had approved several such excursions in the past, but if Sherlock didn’t want him to come along this time, she was certain there was a good reason.

It didn’t help that her brother had been trying everyone’s temper as the summer heat weighed on them all. And the strain of behaving himself while his sisters and cousins visited must have been difficult, although it was no real excuse for his current petulance; Mariana had heard him berating Sherlock in shrill, angry tones and had been forced to intervene as she perceived that his tutor’s temper was about to turn just as nasty.

After Marcus Aegyptus had left them, his temper not one whit soothed by Mariana’s promise that he could accompany the men some other time, she turned to Sherlock and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say ‘What can I do?’

His response was unexpected, and had nothing to do with the matter at hand; instead, he returned to their conversation from the Via Pigmentarii, although it took Mariana a minute to realize that. “You keep servants as well as slaves.” 

His expression was still stormy, although his voice remained courteous, and so Mariana decided to answer a question she thought must have been weighing on his mind. As long as they both remained civil, she would allow his questions…and as long as the conversation didn’t suddenly veer into the flirtatious tone it had taken last time they had spoken on the matter. “That’s true.”

“Your father disapproved of slavery, and passed that dislike onto you, and yet you continue to own slaves. Why…er, may I ask why?” he added, correcting himself at the last minute. He’d been trying, he really had, but still resented the role he was forced to play that it was difficult at times to do as he’d been advised and be…nice. Subservient. Obedient.

The perfect slave. Resentment simmered, but he tamped it down with difficulty. The reason Marcus Aegyptus was not to be allowed to accompany him when he met up with Gaius Flavius was because it would involve a visit to a _lupanar_ , in order to question several of the women there regarding a particular suspect that had managed to elude the Vigiles and Sherlock’s own deductive powers for the past two weeks. Annoying, but he had confidence they would soon find him. If only it wasn’t so damned _hot_ …

Unaware of his internal struggle to maintain his temper, Mariana answered the question immediately and unhesitatingly, as if the answer were so ingrained that she needed no time to think on the matter. “Because my father believed that, as there was nothing he could do to change the institution that has been so entrenched in Roman society – and others,” she added with a sidelong glance, not so subtly reminding him that his own people took slaves, “that the best way for him to make any kind of a difference was in his treatment of his own slaves.”

“To teach by example,” Sherlock said slowly.

Mariana nodded. “Yes, but not only that; he believed in the inherent dignity of all human beings, and that if you treat people well, they will return the courtesy.”

Sherlock snorted, and Mariana gave him a sharp look. “You disagree?”

“It has not been my experience,” Sherlock replied, choosing his words carefully, “that people are inherently nothing if not grasping and opportunistic. That good deeds are more often rewarded with betrayal than loyalty. It is astounding to me that your parents managed their household with such a policy in place. It seems…atypical. And for you to continue those lenient policies goes far beyond strict duty and honoring ones parents.”

The conversation was going well; Mariana was an interesting and learned speaker who believed passionately in everything she was saying.

Sherlock, therefore, had to ruin it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lupanar – brothel  
> Lena – female brothel owner


	6. Uerbera Puer (Whipping Boy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's mouthing off gets him what he deserves...and secretly desires, no matter how much he tries to deny it. Warnings for flogging and inappropriate physical response to same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)  
> Molly's sisters – Flavia Lucretia and Juliana Justinia
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Molly's (deceased) parents – Flavia Tullia Hortensius and Apollonius Gaius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion, also Marcia Faustina's cousin)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber)
> 
> Bill Wiggins – Vergilius Felix Hortensius (General dogsbody and errand boy for the Hortensius family, a slave)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)

He tried to listen to Mariana as she attempted to explain how firmly she believed what her parents, especially her father, had taught her; he honestly was interested, but the way she kept referring to the two of them by their full, formal names was beginning to grate on his nerves. Romans were so pompous and full of themselves when it came to names, a habit he was finding especially irksome today, although he was unable to pinpoint the exact reason why that should be. Perhaps it was the heat; perhaps it was the frustration regarding the case, or the headache-inducing argument he’d had with Marcus Aegyptus (Archie, he longed to call the boy, shortening that ridiculously pretentious name into something a boy would have back home, in Angle’s Land).

And Mariana Tullia was still droning on; over the dull ache in his head her voice sounded shrill and uninviting, where normally he found it rather soothing, much as he hated to admit it. Soothing and oftentimes beguiling in a way no slave should ever allow himself to notice. He’d rather her voice was shrill all the time; why couldn’t it be, things would be so much less complicated if it were.

Where he’d only moments ago been truly interested in what she had to say, now all he wanted was for her to just _shut up_ …“Mariana Tullia, that's quite a mouthful,” Sherlock said abruptly, cutting her off in mid-word. “I believe I'd prefer to call you...Molly.”

The look she gave him – one of stunned incredulity – would have been humorous if his head hadn’t ached so abominably. “I…beg your pardon?”

She was giving him a way out, a chance to retract his insolent words; he was more than clever enough to recognize that, but he was also feeling churlish enough at the moment not to do so. “You heard me,” he snapped. “This ridiculous use of multiple polysyllabic names your Romans are so addicted to. It’s entirely unnecessary and I wish to dispense with it. Immediately. By calling you Molly.”

Her eyes had narrowed as he spoke, flashing with a seething anger he chose to ignore. “That isn't my name,” she said through gritted teeth. “It isn't a name at all, it's just something you've made up!”

“Oh, it’s hardly made up,” he contradicted her. “It’s a perfectly legitimate shortening of Mariana Tullia, just as Marcus Aegyptus can easily be turned into Archie. Just because you Romans are such rigid traditionalists by nature, doesn’t mean you can’t learn to adapt to newer, and I might add, far superior customs…”

Molly’s face had gone red with fury, an interesting look he’d never actually seen on her. “You will address me properly, Sherlock,” she ground out through gritted teeth, her hands balled into tiny fists by either side of her thighs. Where her muted blue _stola_ was clinging, sweat-soaked in the heat and showing far more of her legs than he’d ever seen before. “You will speak to me with the respect due me as your owner and head of this household…”

He snapped his eyes up from where they’d been lingering; then, unable to resist a further look, he covered his actions by snorting disdainfully as looked her petite form up and down in as insolent a manner as he could manage. He should just take his own words to heart and shut up, walk away from this brewing storm, but at this point he could no more stop himself than he could the tide. “Head of this household, hmm, yes, I suppose so,” he drawled, leaning deliberately against the nearest column and folding his arms across his chest. “For as long as your sisters allow you to hold that post…and only until _Archie_ reaches his majority.” He made sure to emphasize his use of the newly-created shortened form of her brother’s name. “And then what?” he sneered. “How long will it be before they tell him he needs to marry you off, force you to do your duty and produce three new Roman citizens for the glorification of the Empire?”

 _Thwack!_ The sound of her palm smacking against his cheek echoed through the small courtyard, shocking them both. Panting with anger, she glared up at him. “How dare you,” she said in a low voice that sent an unwelcome shiver up his spine. Not of fear; oh no, never of fear. He’d rather it was fear; fear he could understand, fear he could conquer. But the spark of desire he felt for her in that moment, when she was so furiously angry with him…it wasn’t something he could control or contain.

His discomfort only served to fuel his headache, although he refused to allow either to affect his precariously maintained façade as Mariana straightened to her full height ( _she was so petite; she would fit beneath his body with ease; he could curl around her completely, tuck her head beneath his and enfold her in his arms..._ ) and said in her haughtiest voice: “I forbid you to call me by such a ridiculous diminutive. You will address me properly or, or else.”

“Or else what?” he asked, leaning forward and scowling down at her, the conflicting emotions and painful throbbing in his head combining to entirely overwhelm what little common sense his mind could summon at the moment. 

A calm seemed to settle over her as she took in his continued insolence, his deliberate smirk in spite of the red mark his cheek no doubt sported. “You will be punished. Whipped.”

Common sense might have been drowned, but self-preservation was attempting weakly to make itself heard. He ignored it, taking a single step forward and staring down at Mariana. “Do what you feel you must.” Then, quite deliberately, he added: “ _Molly_.”

oOo

Mariana heard it, but her shock and anger made her doubt her ears – until she saw his expression. He was smirking at her, one eyebrow quirked upward, daring her to make good on her threat, and that. Was. _It._

Without another word to Sherlock she turned on her heel and strode from the colonnade, calling for the senior of the two household guards as she did so. He came running to meet her, an expression of alarm on his face, and no wonder; Mariana rarely had been known to raise her voice over anything short of a major calamity. 

Lucius came to a stop in front of her, asking what was wrong. When she told him to bring Sherlock to the punishment post in the interior courtyard and to assemble the household to stand witness to his whipping, the man's sallow features went quite pale, and he licked his lips. But when he opened his mouth as if to protest, Mariana merely raised an eyebrow and waited, arms folded across her chest and cheeks flaming with fury. Lucius closed his mouth abruptly, nodded his head and hurried off the way she'd just come while she continued into her private rooms, determined to see this through now that Sherlock had chosen to push her just a little too far.

No, he’d done more than push her ‘a little too far’; he’d practically shoved her over an emotional cliff with his insolent manner and his insulting looks and the way he’d so contemptuously desecrated her and her brother’s names. He would deserve every stripe he received, and the humiliation of being punished by her in front of the other slaves and servants. But not Marcus; she paused on the way to her chambers, stopping to find Salonina and instructing her to take him to the market. Her maid appeared confused but obeyed without a single word, no doubt seeing the resolute expression in her mistresses’ eyes and recognizing it for the barely-contained storm it was.

After she reached her rooms, Mariana had to search through two small chests before she found the item she needed; the flogger she’d purchased upon taking up her responsibilities as head of the household. It had never been used, and she’d hoped it never would be, but Sherlock needed to be reminded of his place, to remember that she deserved and was worthy of his respect, and so he would be the one to make her into exactly what he’d already accused her of being: a typical Roman slave owner.

Those words shouldn’t even be considered an insult, yet from his lips, they certainly were. She closed her ears to her conscience, which even in the midst of her fury was whispering that she was overreacting, that the heat was making her as irrational as he’d been behaving, that she should give him another chance.

No. If she let him walk all over her now, he would continue to do so until she may as well lay herself down at her feet and let him do it to her literally as well as figuratively. And she would be damned if she would ever let another man bend her to his will again.

She also ignored the frisson of warmth that she felt as she held the flogger in her hands, flooding outward from her female center and sending a shiver up her spine. She caressed the short, leather-wrapped handle, studied the blue-dyed straps with their knotted leather points, and pictured herself wielding the weapon for the four stripes she that were standard punishment for insolence. He would be shirtless, his tunic stripped his body, his torso bared to her sight as he stood before her, clad only in his sandals and loincloth…

With an exclamation of annoyance Mariana slammed the mental lid on that particular set of images, locking them firmly away. Now was certainly not the time to indulge in fantasies of that nature; she needed to cool her temper, to deliver the punishment calmly and emotionlessly, to demonstrate that she was doing this out of necessity and not out of spite or anger. With that in mind, she laid the flogger on her bed, once again ignoring the part of her that enjoyed seeing it there, and tried very hard not to picture Sherlock lying on his stomach with his hand bound while she knelt over him…

She hastily averted her eyes from the bed and hurried over to the bowl of water waiting on the low table set against the back wall of her room, well away from the windows. The water was lukewarm but still felt cool against her overheated flesh as she splashed it on her face, patting herself dry with the strip of linen set aside for just that use. Then she carefully stripped off her _stola_ , setting it aside for Salonina to deal with upon her return from the market, and just as carefully dressed herself in her finest linen garments, selected the jewels she felt would give the best image, and carefully arranged her hair in the most formal style she could manage on her own. The bronze mirror set carefully up against the wall in her dressing chamber helped, and once she was finished, she gave a satisfied nod, walked back into the main room and picked up the flogger, then strode out of her rooms and headed for the inner courtyard.

oOo

Sherlock’s face was flushed red in combined fury, outrage and humiliation as he stood by the whipping post, although he allowed no other signs of his agitation to show. He’d not yet been stripped or manacled, but the presence of Lucius and Darius on either side of him warned him not to try and bolt. Not that he would do so anyways; his pride wouldn’t let him. He refused to be dragged back to this very place and perhaps have a few stripes added to his punishment just for the sake of avoiding the moment. He had a better feel for Rome now and could no doubt hide himself away for quite some time, but he also knew that Gaius Flavius would set the Vigiles on him if he did so. They were comrades of sorts, and trusted each to have the other’s back in a fight, but this was an entirely different sort of situation, and the ex-soldier would be much more likely to side with Mariana in this matter. Legally he certainly could do nothing else, but more than that, he would believe it a matter of honor to return a runaway slave to her.

He eyed the iron bolt set well above head-height near the top of the tall wooden post. It was showing signs of rust, but also of having been hastily oiled, and he knew that the sack leaning at the base of the post held the seldom-used manacles. Oh, he’d done more than simply insult her; he’d infuriated Mariana, to the point where she felt the need to make an example of him in front of the assembled slaves and servants, who were slowly filing into the courtyard. No one spoke a word; Marcia Faustina looked stricken, Vergilius uneasy and the others anxious or excited, depending on their temperaments. He ignored them all, gazing stoically ahead as they waited for Mariana Tullia to make her presence known.

The one grace she’d permitted him was the absence of Marcus Aegyptus; since Salonina Theodora was also missing, he deduced that she’d been employed to take the lad elsewhere for the afternoon. Good. He would hear of it, of course, and would no doubt have a great many questions, but for some reason knowing that he wouldn’t actually witness the spectacle took some of the weight off Sherlock’s shoulders.

There was a stirring in the small gathering, a murmur of whispered noises and then silence descended. He raised his eyes and saw Mariana approaching him. She didn’t even look at him, simply nodded coolly to the others. She’d changed into her most formal clothing, even taking the time to put up her hair and don her finest pair of pearl earrings. Other than that and a heavy bronze torque, she wore no other jewelry. He approved; the earrings emphasized her status, the torque had once belonged to her mother and gave weight – literal and metaphorical – to her authority over the household, and the formality of her hair and clothing bespoke the seriousness of the occasion.

He snorted inwardly at his irony of his deducing the meaning of her altered appearance when it was solely to demonstrate her power over him. He retreated into his mind while she gave a little speech about the seriousness of his offenses – which he refused to acknowledge any fault for, so why should he listen to her listing them out, justifying her current course of action? When it came down to it she was just like any other Roman: power hungry, callous, cruel, and indifferent to the feelings of others.

His conscience pointed out, rather acerbically, that he had exhibited just those traits himself; he ignored that as well, retreating further into his mind, to the point that he no longer felt the heat or the pounding in his temples or the emotional distress Mariana had brought about.

He woke back to the outer world however, when his tunic was unbelted and pulled off his body; Marcia stepped forward and held out her arms, carefully folding the garment once Mariana had nodded her permission for her to take it and the belt. He was left standing in only his loincloth and sandals; a tug on his arm by Lucius, who very carefully did not look him in the eyes, indicated he was to raise his hands while Darius threaded the chains of the manacles through the iron loop. Sherlock remained stoic as his he was manacled to the post, his back to the others. Darius and Lucius stepped away, and he heard the whisper of fabric and the soft sound of Mariana’s delicate sandals on the pavement as she moved to stand a few feet behind him.

He braced himself, then forced his muscles to relax as he once again retreated deep within his own mind. The body was simply transport; he could endure a whipping at Mariana’s hands just as he’d endured a lashing when he was first taken into slavery. The centurion who’d felt compelled to remind Sherlock of his newly fallen status in the world had been very large and very surly, the whip tipped in metal and meant to draw blood at Mariana’s flogger was not. He still bore a small scar on his right shoulder blade from that lashing; idly he wondered if she noted it, if the sight of that paler strip of flesh gave her pause, before dismissing such matters from his thoughts. He focused instead on mathematical equations, which could occupy him for hours.

The first blow effectively disrupted his attempts at distancing himself mentally from what his body was being forced to endure; it landed harder than he’d expected it to, and he almost turned to see if she’d changed her mind and given over his punishment to Lucius or Darius. But no; she would not shirk what she saw as both a responsibility and a duty, and his impression of her physical strength went up a notch.

He was further made unpleasantly aware of his body by the way his cock hardened, as if somehow his nervous system had confused the pain of the lashes – he’d received the second lash of the promised four, flinching as the points of the flogger stung him in a different pattern – with pleasure. Although he couldn’t see Mariana he could picture her clearly in his mind, which continued its pattern of treachery by detailing her so clearly; the way her arm raised and lowered as she lashed him, the look of fierce concentration on her face, even the tension in her body as she did something she clearly had no taste for but felt compelled to administer. 

The third lashing elicited a grunt of pain from him as well as causing his cock to swell even larger. Thank the Gods that his position against the post and the thickness of his loincloth would serve to hide this embarrassing physical reaction from the eyes of the silently watching group! 

The fourth lash came across his upper back, and her jerked and grunted in response, eyes clenched tightly shut as he tried desperately to once again focus on mathematics rather than how his body was betraying him. Visions of Mariana danced behind his eyelids, naked, caressing the flogger lightly as he lay spread-eagle on her bed. He almost shook his head in an effort to dislodge the distasteful image, but remembered at the last minute how important it was for him to remain as stoic as possible. She had wrenched no cries of pain from him, only the grunts of breath he couldn’t control; he had that much satisfaction, and would give her nothing to gloat over.

But when he was released from his bonds, sagging in Lucius and Darius’ arms as his legs gave way beneath him, the expression on her face was one of extreme unhappiness. Unhappiness that he hadn’t reacted as she expected? No, he decided as he stumbled away, the two guards’ hands gripping his upper arms firmly but not painfully. Unhappiness that he’d forced her into these actions.

He quelled a sudden urge to laugh; would she be so unhappy if she saw what lay beneath his loincloth? He suspected she would be embarrassed and appalled…outwardly. Inwardly, however? Was her heart as conflicted as his own, did she truly want him as much as he believed she did? Or was he placing his own selfish needs onto her?

The sun, he decided as he was delivered to his quarters, had certainly gotten to him today. It was the only excuse he could give himself for such rambling and disjointed thoughts; certainly the lashing had only minimal impact on his thought processes! And it was the torpid heat that had caused such an undignified and unwanted physical reaction as well. It had to be; any other reason was unacceptable.

He groaned after Lucius and Darius had left him, face down on his low couch, back aching and stinging, but his erection thankfully diminished during the painful walk. He made to roll on his side and hissed as he aggravated his injuries, wondering dimly when Marcia would arrive to care for him; he’d seen her take his clothing and knew that it was her duty to tend to the damage Mariana – _Molly_ , he thought rebelliously, _damned if she can control my thoughts!_ – had wrought.

His head was resting on the flat pillow he preferred, face turned toward the inner wall of his small room when he heard the door open and soft footsteps moving toward him. They were not, however, Marcia’s heavier tread; in spite of her petite build and slender form, her left hip bothered her at times which gave her a distinctive gait. No, whoever approached him moved the a lightness that spoke of youth, and a feeling of dread rose up in his stomach, fighting with an equal sense of anticipation as he slowly turned his head to confirm his suspicions.

Mariana stood a few feet away, a shallow bowl of water in her arms. She stooped gracefully and placed it on the low table by his bedside, carefully placing it so that not a single drop spilled. He sniffed; no, not water, but wine. Without a word she returned to the door, where he noted Marcia awaiting with his tunic and belt; Mariana took them from her, along with some strips of linen and a small container of…honey? Yes, honey; the scent was distinctive even with the sour aroma of the vinegary wine so close to his face. 

As Mariana moved back to his bedside, his mind automatically cataloged the changes in her appearance; she’d removed her jewelry, pulled her hair into a no-nonsense bun, and changed back into her everyday clothes. Good; she looked more like herself this way, the way he was used to seeing her.

The way he _preferred_ seeing her.

Stifling a groan, he shifted his hips as his body threatened to betray him yet again. It was stiflingly hot in his small room, but he could no longer entirely blame his lack of control on the heat. No, it was Mariana who was doing this to him, the thought of her touching him hardening his cock and adding to the flush of heat on his already feverishly-warm body.

If Mariana noted his reactions, he comforted himself with the knowledge that she would blame it on the punishment she’d inflicted on him and the heat rather than anything else. She lowered herself carefully to sit on the edge of his bed, and he felt a vicious stab of satisfaction as he saw her wince at the close-up view of his back. He was sure it was an ugly sight, and he hoped she regretted every stripe she’d given him, the humiliation she’d forced him to endure by treating him so in front of the bulk of the household.

If she’d done so here, in privacy…

He cut that thought off sharply. Under no circumstances did he wish to be under this woman’s control any more than he already was.

Did he?

She interrupted his troublesome thoughts by speaking. “I’m going to bathe your back with wine, the coat the welts with honey. Then you’ll need to sit up so I can wind the linens around your chest and back. Will you need assistance or will you be able to do it yourself?”

“Myself,” he spat back, glowering at her. He might be a scholar at heart but he’d also been raised in a warrior culture; surely she could see he was no weakling!

Considering that she’d last seen him being helped to walk, however, he had to reluctantly admit that her question did have merit. “I think,” he therefore grudgingly added.

“Well, we shall see, then,” she replied, keeping her tone light and even. He braced himself for the feel of her hands on his body, relaxing as she patted gently at his back with wine-soaked linens. She had a deft touch; he barely winced as she smeared the honey across the welts she’d given him. Damn the woman for only adding to his confusion; every time he thought he had her safely pegged, she did something else to throw him off balance.

“I’m not sorry.”

Like now, for instance; those were definitely not the words he’d been expecting her to say. “Of course you’re not,” he snapped back, his internal censor still not functioning as it should. “You were just performing your duty. Making the sure the slave remembers his place. Well, don’t worry; I can assure you I will be meticulous in referring to you properly from now on, _Domina_.” 

She was silent for a long moment after his bitter words, but he refused to look up, to try and see what expression she wore. Was she angry that her ‘lesson’ hadn’t worked as she’d planned? Well, that was too bad; he wasn’t going to simply roll over and let her tread on his belly like some lickspittle dog!

“I’m not sorry that I whipped you, because it needed to be done. I’ve allowed your disrespectful tongue to plague me for far too long, and you needed to know I wouldn’t – won’t – tolerate it any longer.” He was working himself into a proper temper when her next words acted as a splash of icy water on his anger. She drew in a deep breath, let it out on a soft almost-sigh. “But I am sorry that you won’t let yourself be happy here. I know it’s not the life you wanted or planned for, but it doesn’t have to be a…a horrible life if you don’t let it.”

“Slavery is still slavery no matter how much gilding you put on the cage,” he replied softly, finally turning his head to look at her. “If our places were reversed, I doubt very much you’d have the same feelings on the matter.”

He held her gaze, feeling a vague sense of guilt when she was the first to look away. She finished coating his wounds and helped him to a sitting position when it was time to wrap the linens round his chest, but spoke not another word to him that wasn’t instructions, such as “Turn this way” or “Raise your arms”. He obeyed each command without comment; having made his point and succeeded in causing her to feel emotional discomfort at least somewhat equivalent to his own, he retreated into silence.

When she left, after quietly informing him that his duties were lifted for three days, he delved deep within his mind, seeking to eradicate every emotional attachment to her name that he could locate and identify. When he finally drifted off to sleep, however, it was only after realizing that the task he’d set himself was an impossible one.


	7. Cruciatus Est A Corde (A Tormented Heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> John Watson – Junius Hadrian Veturius (former army doctor whose life was once saved by a young Brittonic scholar/soldier named Sherlock)
> 
> Mary Watson – Mariana Maxia Veturius (wife to Junius, mother of his future child)
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion, also Marcia Faustina's cousin)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)
> 
> A/N: Junius and Sherlock both say and feel things that are meant to be period-appropriate and not reflective of the author's actual feelings about things. Please keep that in mind!

The next morning, after a night spent uncomfortably attempting to sleep on his stomach, with a change of bandaging just after midnight by Marcia Faustina (accompanied by a lecture he didn’t bother listening to, although thankfully she also applied a poultice to his pounding head when he asked her to), Sherlock managed to sit up on his own, wincing at the pain in his back and shoulders. He even managed to dress himself, although Marcia Faustina appeared as he was attempting unsuccessfully to lace his sandals and clucked in disapproval. “You’ll do yourself more harm than good by being so stubborn,” she said tartly.

Her words stirred a faint echo of familiarity in his mind; hadn’t she said something along those lines just last night? Yes, she had, although he vaguely recalled that it had less to do with his physical condition and more to do with his attitude toward Mariana Tullia.

He sulkily allowed her to fasten his sandals as if he were a child, but waved away her offer to help him to stand. “Your hip doesn’t need to be aggravated, either, Procuratrix,” he snapped when she fussed over his continued stubbornness even as he remained sitting, girding himself for the pain he knew he would endure when did attempt to rise. “I can walk, I can sit and stand, my headache is gone and honestly, I see no need for my duties to be curtailed for a full three days; giving Marcus Aegyptus his lessons is hardly physically taxing!”

“The Domina left strict orders that you are to rest for three days, young man, and rest for those three days you shall!” Marcia Faustina scolded him. “I’ve already sent word to my nephew that you’re not available to assist him for the next week…”

“What!?” Sherlock shot to his feet, the pain in his back nothing compared to his outrage. “Why not? Am I restricted to this room now?”

Marcia Faustina shook her head calmly, folding her hands across her midsection in a pose Sherlock’s mind automatically processed as her at her most implacable. “You’re not restricted to your room, don’t be foolish; it would do nothing to aid your recovery. You are, however, ordered to rest and allow your bruises to heal. And chasing after criminals with Gaius Flavius is not resting!”

Sherlock sullenly nodded when she asked if he understood the Domina’s commands. Then Marcia Faustina coaxed him into joining her in the kitchen, reminding him that he needed to eat to speed his recovery. Marcus Aegyptus joined them there shortly after Sherlock finished his meal, the youngster dashing into the room and being scolded by Marcia for his carelessness when he nearly knocked into her.

Uttering a hasty apology, Marcus Aegyptus hurried over to stand in front of Sherlock, studying him closely with an unhappy expression on his face. “My sister said she had you whipped for insolence; is it true?”

Sherlock nodded, remaining stoic as his young charge expressed his outrage that Mariana Tullia would do such a thing. “When I’m in charge of the household no one’s getting whipped!” he finished, stomping his foot angrily.

Sherlock was warmed by this unexpected show of male solidarity; he’d expected the boy to take his sister’s side. However, he refused to believe it was due to anything other than his own influence over Marcus, not wanting to listen to the soft voice whispering in the back of his mind that it was more likely because of Mariana’s teachings. Sherlock was of no mind to believe anything but ill of the infuriating woman at the moment. Especially since he’d awoken not only to the pain in his back but to an erection caused by uneasy dreams of her wielding the flogger as he begged her to continue.

When Marcia reminded Marcus that he was not to bother Sherlock for the next three days, both of them felt constrained to object, but she stood firm, shooing the young lad out of the kitchen with a handful of honeyed sweets and promises that in three days things would return to normal. The look she gave Sherlock as she went about her duties spoke volumes; he was not to go behind her back or there would be consequences.

Sherlock scowled but nodded jerkily to show he understood her unspoken warning, then took himself off to find something – anything! – that might occupy his mind. He encountered Salonina Theodora on the way to his room to pick out a scroll or two to study, and the argument that ensued did nothing for his temper.

Recognizing that he was well on his way to working himself up as badly as he had the day before, he abruptly changed direction, leaving the maid glaring after him as he headed for the main door, shoving it open and moving stiffly down the street. Lucius, who was on duty, made no move to stop him, so at least he still had that much freedom.

Hah. Freedom. He snorted contemptuously. Freedom had always been an illusion, an elusive goal while the Romans crushed Angle’s Land beneath their sandaled feet, but that was nothing compared to the life of a true slave. The life he was forced to live now. And all because of...

His footsteps slowed as he realized where they’d taken him; to the front door of Junius Hadrian Veturius, the one man who could have set him free, yet had instead allowed him to be purchased by that infuriating woman.

He pushed the door open, knowing it would be unlocked at this time of day, when Junius would be receiving patients. Mariana Maxia greeted him calmly as he passed by her, and he paused long enough to jerk his head in a bow of acknowledgement. “Junius is in his surgery,” she said, then turned and headed out the door, pulling it shut behind her. Belatedly Sherlock realized she’d had a basket over one arm and her favorite deep green mantle pulled over her golden braids; on her way to the market, then, one of the chores she preferred to take on herself rather than entrusting it to any of the four slaves she and Junius owned.

As he stormed into the surgery, half-hoping to find the surgeon with a patient so he could interrupt and analyze and deduce a stranger, the older man turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. “Sherlock? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

His slight emphasis on ‘pleasure’ informed Sherlock that it was no such thing, but he was in no mood to care as he paced back and forth in the spacious room. Junius’ surgery took up the entire side of the house and had once been a formal dining area. “Something’s obviously wrong,” he said after a moment spent watching Sherlock moving back and forth, unspeaking. “Are you injured?”

Sherlock let out a bark of laughter and came to a stop a few feet away from the other man. “Injured? Yes, I’m certain the stiffness in my gait and occasional winces I can’t control when I twist my torso the wrong way must have given it away.”

“Did something go wrong when you and Gaius Flavius were out chasing down criminals?” was Junius’ next question. His brow was furrowed, and he indicated the waist-high table where he examined his patients. “Let me…”

“I’ve not been stabbed or bludgeoned by a criminal,” Sherlock replied, backing up a few steps. “No, this is the work of no man.” He gave another bitter laugh and made as if to run his hands through his hair, wincing and dropping his arms back to his sides as pain raced up his back. “My kindly, gentle Domina did this to me.”

Junius sucked in a surprised breath. “Mariana Tullia had you whipped? Why?” His eyes narrowed as he asked, “What did you do?”

The words came spilling out in a rapid fall, unstoppable. Junius listened impassively as Sherlock spoke, raging about the unfairness of it all, snarling at how Mariana Tullia was no different than any other Roman, about how he couldn’t stand living like this for even a single day longer…

It was then that Junius interrupted him. “Don’t do it.”

Sherlock scowled. “Don’t do what?” He ignored the memory of a similar conversation between them only two months earlier.

Junius shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “Whatever it is you’re thinking about doing. Getting back at her, running away…just don’t do it.”

“She flogged me in front of the entire household,” Sherlock snarled as he paced back and forth, heedless of any impediments. He stepped over and on the low furniture in his agitation, seeming unmindful of the painful welts on his back while Junius watched and waited patiently. “She lashed me just for calling her something other than ‘Domina’. Just for speaking my mind…”

“You’re a slave, Sherlock,” Junius reminded him, his voice stern yet sympathetic. “Speaking your mind isn’t one of the things you’re supposed to do – and,” he added, giving the younger man a shrewd glance, “I’ll wager it wasn’t just a matter of you ‘speaking your mind’, was it?”

Sherlock ignored the question, but Junius could read the answer clearly in the uneasy way his eyes darted around the room. He sighed. “Why haven’t you learned to school that foolish tongue of yours by now?”

“Why didn’t you do the right thing and buy me yourself, then set me free?” Sherlock burst out as he finally came to a stop in front of Junius, hands fisted by his sides as he glared down at the shorter man. “You owe me your life, it was the least you could have done for me!”

Junius remained calm, although he felt the familiar guilt churning in his gut at Sherlock’s all-too-true accusation. “I already told you, Sherlock, that it was impossible, that the best I could do was make sure you came to a worthy household…”

“Oh yes, a very worthy household,” Sherlock sneered. “Where I’ve had my worth as a human being made absolutely clear at the first sign of…”

“Of what?” Junius interrupted him, his own temper starting to rise at his young friend’s stubborn insistence on seeing the world as the way he wanted it to be, rather than the way it was. “Rebellion? Disobedience? Insolence?” He shook his head, knowing he’d pegged it correctly. “If Mariana flogged you, then it was because you pushed her too far and got exactly what you deserved.”

Sherlock’s face had gone white, then flushed red as Junius spoke, and the physician tried to steer the conversation back to the point before one of them said something they’d both later come to regret. “Sherlock,” he said, softening his voice a bit, “you know I would have purchased you and then set you free if I could, but the Gods’ honest truth of the matter is that I couldn’t afford to spend that much money. Not now, not with a baby on the way, and certainly not without discussing it with my wife first.”

Sherlock’s lip curled in an expression of utter contempt. “Oh, yes, not without clearing it with your precious Mary first,” he sneered. “And here I thought you were a proper man, not a lapdog for a –”

Whatever insult he was about to hurl at his friend’s wife went unsaid as Junius’ fist crashed into his face. Sherlock was laid flat, blood smearing his face from his cut lip and nose as he glared up at the older man, stunned by the blow but still angry and defiant.

Junius’ breaths were short and sharp as he attempted to rein in his fury. “Don’t ever speak of my wife in that tone of voice, Sherlock,” he said, his voice a deadly threat that widened the younger man’s eyes as he finally recognized exactly how far over the line he’d crossed. “I don’t care what you think of me; frankly, you can insult me all you want, curse me to the Gods and blame me for not saving you when I should have, as is your due, but if you _ever_ say a word against my Mariana Maxia I will thrash you to within an inch of your life, and no apologies to your mistress, either, for damaging the merchandise.” He leaned down, making sure Sherlock heard every word he spoke. “And don’t you ever call her ‘Mary’ again. That is _my_ name for her, no one else’s. Names are important here, Sherlock. You’d do well to remember that before you accuse your lady of overreacting.”

Then he extended his hand, and Sherlock cautiously reached up to grasp it and allow the older man to haul him back to his feet. “Apologies for the insults to your lady wife,” he mumbled as Junius pushed him toward the low couch opposite the examination table. “I don’t hold her in contempt, truly I don’t. It just…came out wrong.”

Insight struck Junius like a bolt from the Gods. “That’s what you did, isn’t it,” he said. “You called Mariana Tullia something other than her name or Domina.”

“You Romans,” Sherlock spat out, as if finally releasing some long-held resentment. Gods, the lad was bursting at the seams with those. “Placing such ridiculous importance on names and titles, why is it so wrong to want to find something simpler to call you by? Would it truly be the end of the world if I called Marcus Aegyptus ‘Archie’, or Mariana Tullia ‘Molly’?”

Junius shook his head. “Tunic off,” he ordered, knowing Sherlock was too proud to allow him to help him. “And yes, Sherlock, it would be the figurative end of the world if you did so. You’re a slave, as we’ve already established, and there are rules by which you have to live now, like it or not. And yes,” he added with a scowl, “I _know_ you don’t like it. Too bad. As you’ve said, life is unfair; it’s not up to us to grumble about how things ought to be, but instead to deal with things the way they are. So you need to grow up and start dealing with it, or you’ll find yourself under the whip again at some point.”

Sherlock had his tunic off at this point, and Junius studied the injuries after removing the bandages. Mariana had done a thorough job with the four lashes she’d applied, covering a good portion of Sherlock’s back and shoulders, leaving a pattern of bruises and raised welts that the coating of honey had already brought down in size. For an inexperienced flogger, she’d managed to keep from breaking the skin or concentrating too heavily on one part of Sherlock’s back. When he told Sherlock that, he couldn’t help noticing the way the boy tensed, his hands unconsciously tightening where they rested on his thighs.

Junius kept his thoughts about that to himself, but later, after he’d reapplied honey to Sherlock’s back, then rebandaged him and sent him home, he spoke to Mary about it. “I think the boy might be falling in love with her,” he said when his wife returned from market. He was rubbing her back, attempting to soothe the nearly continuous low ache she complained of as her time approached. “Or at least in lust,” he added as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to Mary’s shoulder.

“Mmm, yes, that’s a given,” she replied with a contented sigh as he pressed his fingers a little harder against her skin. “No wonder he can’t control his mouth around her; he has no idea what do with the feelings she’s aroused in him. I imagine it’s just as difficult for her,” she added as she gave Junius her hand and allowed him to help her back to a sitting position.

“It would be a disaster if they acted on those feelings,” Junius said, then frowned as his wife gave him a pitying look. “What? It would be, we both know it!”

“Oh, Junius, I think you’re wrong this time,” Mary replied, giving him a quick kiss and pulling him to her for a warm embrace. “I think the two of them could be very good for one another. If,” she added with a sparkle of mischief in her beautiful blue eyes, “they don’t kill one another first.”

Junius sighed and shook his head. “Which is exactly what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.


	8. Vera Sepultus Retegere (Uncovering Buried Truths)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters Appearing In Or Mentioned In This Chapter:
> 
> John Watson – Junius Hadrian Veturius (former army doctor whose life was once saved by a young Brittonic scholar/soldier named Sherlock)
> 
> Mary Watson – Mariana Maxia Veturius (wife to Junius, mother of his future child)
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Molly's (deceased) father – Apollonius Gaius Hortensius
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius (Mariana Tullia's half-sister & good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)
> 
> A/N: As always, a huge thanks to everyone for following, commenting on and kudosing this story. You have no idea how much it means to me! Also the usual shout out to Nocturnias, without whom this story never would have existed and who continued to beta for me and keep me on track!

As soon as Sherlock returned to the Hortensius household – he still wouldn’t allow himself to think of it as ‘home’ – he was met with a series of disbelieving reactions, starting with Lucius at the front door. “Can’t seem to keep yourself out of trouble, can you?” the older man sneered, eyeing Sherlock’s battered face. Although Junius had immediately attended to the injury he’d inflicted, there was little to be done to disguise the split lip and slight puffiness to the right side of Sherlock’s nose.

“I would advise you to keep your thoughts to yourself,” he snapped in response as he entered, returning the other man’s sneer with equal venom. Normally the two of them tolerated one another well enough, but Sherlock’s patience was thin on the ground at the moment. “Unless you’d like me to let slip to the Domina about your gambling with purloined household funds, that is.”

He left Lucius sputtering denials and protests as he headed toward his room, changing his mind mid-way and going to the kitchen instead. The truth about the guard would come out eventually, although he had no intention of being the one to reveal the servant’s petty pilfering to Mariana Tullia or Marcia Faustina; the man took only the smallest amounts of money, hardly worth noticing and certainly not taxing to the household budget, but soon it would get out of hand and he would be caught whether Sherlock said anything or not.

Speaking of Marcia Faustina, she was next to tut over him, chiding him for seeking out more trouble, although she was at least assuaged by the fact that he’d been treated by Junius Hadrian. He kept to himself, however, the fact that the good doctor was the one to inflict the injuries in the first place.

Sherlock filched a honey cake from the tray cooling on the scarred wooden table; Marcia Faustina scowled a bit but allowed him the familiarity as she always did. “Mariana Tullia has taken Marcus Aegyptus to the Matralia festival,” she told him as he headed for the interior door. He paused on the threshold, then gave a curt nod as he continued to the inner courtyard.

Resentment simmered; he was supposed to have escorted Marcus to that particular festival, honoring Mater Matuta, Virgin Goddess of the Dawn. Offerings were brought to the temple and blessings bestowed on children; although Marcus was no relation, Sherlock knew the boy certainly felt toward him as he would a favored uncle, which made it even more appropriate since nieces and nephews were particularly honored at that time.

He dismissed his resentment with difficulty; no doubt Mariana saw herself as being helpful, or at the very least doing her duty, as she so often did. He snorted to himself as he finished the honey cake and drank a dipperful of water from one of the jugs near the olive tree; sometimes he thought if you cut her open all you would find would be duty and piousness, but then he unwillingly recalled her clear love for her younger brother, and the equal love the entire household seemed to feel for her, slaves and servants alike, as well as her passion for her family and her profession.

Damn her eyes, why couldn’t he simply feel contempt for her, the way he wanted to? Why did she have this power over him, to make things so…complicated?

He wondered uneasily how she would react when she saw the damage Junius had caused, the injuries to his face. He’d been told to rest for three days, and he’d already disobeyed by getting himself punched on the first day after his flogging; would he be given additional punishment for that?

“My goodness, you do have it bad, don’t you?”

He startled at the sound of that unfamiliar, sultry voice, instantly bridling at having been caught off-guard. Normally it was impossible for anyone to sneak up on him, but he’d been so lost within his confused and annoyed thoughts that the strange woman had come within ten feet of him without his having noticed her. “If you seek the Lady Mariana Tullia, she is out for the day,” he said stiffly, fully aware that she would have already been told this when she was admitted to the house.

“Oh, I know,” the woman said easily. He studied her as she sauntered toward him, blatant sensuality in every sinuous move of her body. With a flick of an eyelid he mentally summed her up: Greek by birth on her mother’s side, a former prostitute now turned _lena_ – no, strike that, now turned highly successful _lena_. There was something else about her appearance that nagged at him, distracting him; what was it, why did she look so…familiar?

“My name is Eirene Sylvia Aedinius,” she said as she came to a stop in front of him, hands on her hips as she boldly looked him up and down. “But I could also claim the name Hortensius if I so chose.”

“You and Mariana Tullia had the same father?” Hmm, interesting. Irrelevant, but interesting. “May I ask what brings you here today, if not to see her?”

“You, of course,” she replied easily, stepping closer to him and running her hands lightly up his torso before gently cupping his chin in her well-manicured hands. He flinched a bit at the contact, then forced himself to remain still, allowing the unwanted familiarity even though her station in life was not much above his. She might have earned her freedom, but she’d been born a slave whose father would not even have considered her his child, according to Roman custom. However, he suspected that Apollonius Gaius had treated her differently, a suspicion that was borne out by her next words.

“My sister has spoken to me of you, Sherlock,” she said, her voice a low murmur as she continued to examine him, head tilted to one side and fingers still brushing his skin in a manner clearly calculated to elicit some kind of a reaction from him. A reaction she was no doubt used to getting from other men, but not from him; he stiffened and clenched his jaw, refusing to be baited. “She finds you troublesome in more ways than you can possibly imagine.” Her expression morphed from cool amusement to one of exaggerated sympathy as she cooed, “How is your back, you poor thing? And what has happened to that pretty face I’ve heard so much about? Surely Mariana Tullia didn’t do this!” And she traced her fingers lightly over his split lip and bruised jaw.

He pulled away from her then, uneasy and unsure why. She was having a similar effect on him as Mariana Tullia did, and he resented it – although he found it interesting that Mariana had actually described him to this woman! He took her wrists, firmly but gently, and pulled her hands away from his face, confident that she wouldn’t protest the familiarity any more than he had. “My injuries are none of your business,” he said coolly. “Nor is my relationship with Mariana Tullia,” he found himself adding, mentally cursing his mouth for forming the words before his mind could stop them from being spoken.

She laughed delightedly and allowed him to lower her hands back to her sides. “Oh, my, yes, your Domina will have her hands full taming you! But I think,” she added, her voice a low purr as her red-painted lips curved up in a small smile, “you will both gain a great deal of pleasure out of that process.”

“I have no idea what you’re…” he started to say, but Eirene’s laughter interrupted him.

“Please, don’t try to deny it, not to me,” she said with a small shake of her head. “You and my sister both; such brilliant minds, such babes in the woods when it comes to love and sex. I do believe you were actually made for each other.”

“Sex is useless unless one wishes to procreate, which I do not and never have,” Sherlock ground out, resenting this woman and her ridiculous notions. The very idea of either falling in love or having sex with anyone – especially Mariana Tullia! – was repugnant to him, alien to his very being.

 _Liar_ , some small part of his mind whispered to him. He ignored it.

Eirene had returned to studying him, a knowing smile on her lips. “Spoken like a man who’s never indulged himself except with his own hand,” she replied. “Such a waste; your lips were made for kissing and those cheekbones – I could cut myself on them slapping you.” She raised one hand as if to suit actions to words; his own hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist, less gently this time. “Don’t worry, Sherlock, I’ll leave that pleasure to Mariana Tullia, once she’s learned this truth.” As she extracted her wrist from his hold and before he could demand to know what truth she was speaking about, she added in Greek: “ _Exepno einai to neo sexi_.”

Then she sauntered away from him, hips twitching, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking: “Why did you come here today?”

“To see for myself exactly how much work I have ahead of me,” she replied, then disappeared from view, leaving a perplexed and disturbed Sherlock to puzzle out her meaning.

oOo

Mariana Tullia was quietly furious when she saw Sherlock’s face upon her return late in the afternoon, a sticky, sleepy Marcus Aegyptus in tow. She sent the boy off with Marcia Faustina, then curtly ordered Sherlock to join her in her chambers, where she instructed Salonina Theodora to tend to his back – but said nothing about his face, asking no questions even though it was obvious she wanted to know how he’d injured himself. The younger woman was silent for once, appearing cowed by her mistresses’ distemper, and Sherlock was too busy puzzling over the odd visit from Eirene to give either woman any of his customary flippancy.

Indeed, he was so unusually subdued that Mariana feared the onset of a fever, and sent Salonina to fetch her healing herbs. 

As soon as the other woman left the room, Sherlock reverted to form, glowering at Mariana. He was lying on his stomach on her bed, where she’d ordered him after Salonina had finished dressing his wounds and his face had been attended to. “I don’t need them. I don’t have a fever.”

Mariana felt a headache coming on; had his punishment taught him nothing? Would he never be done needing to learn his lesson? Was this her fate, to be constantly chastising him, handing out punishments until she was finally driven to sell him for the sake of her own sanity? “Whether you think you need them or not is irrelevant,” she snapped. “Be silent for once, you wretched man, and let me help you!”

He turned his head, a surprised expression on his face…surprise, and something very much like hunger in his eyes as they met hers. She swallowed and backed up a step, unable to stop herself from picturing him in her mind, wrists and ankles bound, wearing no more than the loin cloth currently wrapped around his narrow hips…

Sherlock had sat back up while her mind played out its tawdry fantasies, and Mariana gasped as he suddenly lunged off the bed until he was standing in front of her, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as if he was trying to decide whether or not to throttle her. She made a small sound, and as if that were a signal, he cradled her head in his hands, then leaned down to plant a possessive kiss on her lips. When she let out a soft gasp he seemed to come back to himself, to realize what he was doing; panic blossomed on his face as he scrambled for his clothing and dashed out of her room at a dead run.

oOo

Mariana felt frozen in both body and spirit, unable to move or escape the icy fear of how much she wanted more of his lips on hers…and not just his lips, but his entire body, his being, his very soul. Was this love, lust, or obsession? Terrified, confused in mind and spirit, she fled much as Sherlock had, calling out distractedly to Marcia Faustina that she had a call to make, then dashing out the door.

She very badly needed Eirene’s advice.

When she arrived at the _lupanar_ , she was greeted with surprise by the doorkeeper, and cursed herself for not thinking up an excuse for her visit. She’d just been here, so it wasn’t time for her to examine one of the pregnant girls. But as she dithered she heard Eirene calling out to the man to allow her entrance, murmuring something about a private consultation, then led her into her private courtyard, pressed a goblet of wine into her hands, and put a comforting arm about her shoulders. Shoulders, Mariana realized distractedly, that were shaking, as were her hands. There was wetness on her cheeks, and Eirene tenderly wiped the tears away, not saying anything, giving a grateful Mariana time to compose herself.

“He kissed me. He kissed me, and I let him. No, I didn’t just let him; I kissed him back,” she confessed in a rush, staring down at the remaining wine in the bottom of the goblet. Wine she barely remembered drinking.

“And then he ran and you ran, too, but not after him,” Eirene concluded. Correctly, of course. Mariana simply nodded in response. After a moment’s shared silence, Eirene asked, “Why not?” Her voice was gentle, soothing; she wasn’t trying to force an answer if Mariana felt incapable of offering one, but simply letting her know she wished to help.

“He’s a slave,” Mariana replied after another long moment’s silence, her voice low and anguished. “It’s wrong, it’s immoral.”

Eirene gave an amused laugh and lightly rubbed her half-sister’s arm. “So much of what Roman law deems moral and immoral in theory goes ignored by the populace in practice. My establishment is certainly proof of that, wouldn’t you say? Besides, it’s only wrong if it’s hurting someone. Do you think taking him as your lover would hurt anyone?”

Mariana shrugged. “Would it be hurting him?” Eirene prodded. “Do you think he would feel taken advantage of, or used?”

“He might,” Mariana admitted, lifting troubled brown eyes to meet Eirene’s serious gaze. “He resents his slavery so much, fights it at every turn; I’m surprised he hasn’t run away yet…and perhaps he has. Perhaps he’s decided to take his chances and flee Rome, find his way back to Angle’s Land and his family there.”

“Angle’s Land,” Eirene repeated thoughtfully. Mariana gave her a questioning look. “You called it Angle’s Land rather than Britannia, Mariana Tullia. Why is that?”

“That’s what he calls it, what his people call it,” Mariana replied with a shrug. “What difference does it make? It’s still probably where he’s headed right now.”

Eirene shook her head and sipped from her own goblet. “Oh, I doubt that very much. He is too far gone for that to even occur to him. Too deeply under your thrall, my dear.” She smirked around the rim of the goblet at Mariana’s surprised look. “At least, that was the impression I received when I paid him a visit earlier.”

Mariana sat up abruptly and stared at Eirene at that revelation. “You paid him a visit? Today? Why?”

“To see for myself if this remarkable, abrasive young man was worthy of your time,” Eirene replied easily. “To get my own impressions of him.”

“And?” Mariana found herself asking in spite of herself. She shouldn’t care what anyone thought of Sherlock; she should be angry at Eirene for taking such liberties and coming to the Hortensius home, but wasn’t. Couldn’t be, not when she knew her unacknowledged sister was only looking after her.

“My darling one, he is just as mad for you as you are for him,” was Eirene’s answer. “But he is also skittish as a newborn colt, and just about as innocent when it comes to the ways of men and women. And no matter how he might rave at you about his lack of control over his life, that is exactly what he desires most from you.”

“Control?” Mariana asked doubtfully. The sight of his body beneath the flogger flashed through her mind, along with a corresponding rush of heat, moisture pooling in her loins at the thought of bringing him to heel in such a manner again. Without the rest of the household being involved. “He fights me so, Eirene, how can he possibly desire what he professes most to hate?”

“Some men are like that,” Eirene replied with a shrug, as if to say who knows why? “And take my word for it, my dear, Sherlock is one of them. He loudly proclaims his desire for freedom when in his secret heart he only wishes to be under your power. _Fully_ under it,” she added for extra emphasis. “No more of this half-hearted push-pull between the two of you, Mariana Tullia; you must take charge. Bring him to heel…and trust me, he will end up thanking you for it. Just wait and see.”

The look Mariana gave her was doubtful, but Eirene knew she wasn’t misreading the flash of hope she saw in her eyes. “Would you like my advice on how to handle your willful boy?” she asked, settling back against the low arm of the chair. “And if I offer it, will you take it…will you take him?”

“I think…if you’re sure it’s what he really wants from me…then yes,” Mariana Tullia replied in a rush. “I think I would like that, very much. Tell me what to do.”

Eirene smiled, and explained, and Mariana listened, and pondered…and eventually, when the time was right…she knew she would do as her half-sister advised.

oOo

Sherlock had no idea where he was going, or what he was going to do once he got there. He only knew that he’d just crossed another line, a line he’d never ever thought he’d even approach. And even though Mariana’s sweet lips had returned his stolen kiss, he knew when she returned to her senses she would be furious with him.

His own emotions were a roiling maelstrom; desire, anger, fear, self-loathing…damn the woman for making him feel this way! No, damn himself for housing such volatile emotions, for allowing his circumstances to dictate his reactions instead of acting with his usual cool reason and painfully built-up distance. It was as if the method of loci, his memory palace, in which he carefully stored his knowledge, had had its walls beaten down…and all by the fists of one small, insignificant woman.

 _No,_ he thought regretfully as he ran agitated fingers through his hair and continued to stride unseeingly down the street. _Not insignificant. Entirely_ too _significant._

When he nearly ran down a heavily pregnant woman wrapped in a deep green mantle he murmured an automatic apology and made to go around her. Her hand on his wrist stopped him, and when she spoke he wasn’t actually surprised to realize he knew her. “Sherlock? Are you all right? Are you looking for Junius Hadrian? Is your back troubling you, or your face?”

Mariana Maxia – for it was, indeed, she – was looking at him anxiously, her soft hand still on his wrist, but holding it with surprising steel for one so small. Her other hand rested on the mound of her stomach, which had gone beyond being described as a ‘gentle swell’ many months previous. In fact, if his calculations were correct… “You’ve been to the Temple of Lucina, to make an offering because your baby is past due,” he blurted out, rather than answering her question.

She nodded, keeping a tight grip on his wrist and tugging to indicate he should accompany her. “Junius is at the home of a patient,” she explained as she led him toward her home…where his footsteps had apparently been bringing him, all unknowing, in spite of his earlier altercation with this woman’s husband. Hmm, if Junius had repeated any of the insulting things Sherlock had said, then Mariana Maxia would be rightfully angry with him. And yet if she were, she was certainly an expert at keeping such feelings hidden from the sight of others. Including himself, no easy task. 

“You know that I was at your home earlier,” he said, and she nodded, finally releasing his wrist and taking his arm instead, to both keep him nearby, as well as for actual support; surely her feet must be aching by now, if she’d walked all that way and back again. Which, judging by the evidence his eyes took in, she had. A way of proving to the Goddess that she was sincere in her request for assistance.

“If I insulted you, I hope you understand that was never my intent,” he said abruptly. “When I was in your home earlier, my lady, I said some things…”

“Forgotten. Forgiven,” she replied instantly, with no taint of deception in her words or on her face. “We all say things in the heat of emotion, things we regret later. And although Junius did not share your exact words with me, what he did tell me made me believe that you were regretful. So no further apologies are necessary. However,” she added lightly as they reached the front door of the Veturius household, “I believe a soothing herbal infusion is called for. And perhaps you can share with me what has you so troubled. Beyond the obvious, of course.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but obligingly followed her inside when the doorman admitted them. Mariana dismissed the man for the evening, after first sending him to the kitchen to have the cook bring them some refreshments. Sherlock saw the askance look the man leveled at him, and ignored it; if Mariana Maxia chose to entertain a slave in her sitting room, then she would certainly do so without caring what anyone else thought.

He liked her, he realized in that moment. And if he was reading her correctly, she liked him as well. It was disconcerting; he wasn’t used to people liking him. And he had no idea why she did. Not wanting to open up that particular subject, he waited instead for her to explain why she’d dragged him home with her, assuming she thought herself to be thwarting a runaway attempt.

However, when she spoke, her words took him by surprise. “I don’t suppose you’re comfortable, yet, with the idea of an attractive, intelligent woman having so much power over you.”

“I think you misunderstand the nature of my…”

“Don’t, Sherlock,” Mariana Maxia interrupted him with a serene smile. “I can tell when you’re fibbing, so I recommend that you not even try.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her; how could she possibly know when he was fibbing to her, when they’d only spoken on a few occasions? Then again, how had Eirene seen through him so well, based solely on one meeting and what Mariana Tullia had told her about him? “I was taken prisoner and made a slave, dragged from my home and sold on virtually my first day in Rome,” he said, speaking stiffly and coldly, stubbornly ignoring the inner voice that was urging him to unburden himself to this woman, where he’d never even considered doing so to Mariana Tullia’s half sister. “Forgive me if I have no interest in embracing my life as it currently stands.”

“Oh, it’s not your life you wish to embrace,” she replied with a smirk. Sherlock gaped at her; surely she wasn’t implying what he thought she was implying?

But her next words proved that yes, she very much was. “Mariana Tullia is a lovely young lady, and she deserves to be happy, no matter what society or the law think about it.”

“And somehow you’ve formed the opinion that I am the one who can make her happy?” Sherlock retorted. Unbelievable; two females interfering in his personal life in such quick succession? His brother would be howling with laughter. Moreso if he agreed with the accuracy of their observations…

“No, I’ve formed the opinion that the two of you can make one another happy, if you’ll just let yourselves,” Mariana Maxia replied. 

Sherlock met her gaze uncertainly. He’d judged Mariana Maxia to be more than she seemed when he’d first met her, and she was certainly proving that his observational skills were as sharp as they’d ever been. “I overstepped again,” he confessed in a low voice, unable to continue meeting her gaze, his hands clasped together and fidgeting on his lap. “And surely when I return ho – to the Hortensius house,” he quickly corrected himself, “– she’ll wish to punish me for taking such liberties.”

“Kissed her, did you?” His head jerked back to meet hers, eyes widened in surprise as she gave a soft laugh and laid her hand on his, squeezing gently before releasing her hold. “No witchcraft involved, Sherlock, any more than when you make your deductions. Simple observation, I promise. And,” she added, meeting his gaze earnestly, “I can also promise that Mariana Tullia won’t be inclined to punish that particular misbehavior, or even view it that way. But,” she cautioned, “you must let her make the next move. It’s a delicate dance the two of you are playing at, and as your domina she must always be the one in control.” Then she broke out into a mischievous smile. “As I’m sure you would prefer it!”

Sherlock had absolutely nothing to say to that; why must he be constantly surrounded by women who seemed only to wish to confuse and confound him? But Mariana Maxia didn’t seem to want a response; she sipped from her cup and indicated that he should finish his own drink. He swallowed it down without tasting it, his mind still awhirl, but with his hostesses’ words adding to the mix. 

He rose abruptly to his feet, aware of the passage of time and having come to the conclusion that even if Mariana Maxia was right, he had no desire to test Mariana Tullia’s patience by keeping himself away when he was ostensibly supposed to be resting. “I thank you for your hospitality and I sincerely hope that your offerings today were well received, as it is quite obvious that you are more than ready to bring your daughter into the world.”

Then he took his leave, not answering Mariana Maxia’s demands to know why he thought she was having a girl. If he did explain, it would give away how much he’d been listening to Mariana Tullia’s observations of her patients, and how interesting he found those observations.

He made his way back to his place of residence, however, with a greatly troubled mind. He’d had two very different women tell him in so many words that they believed him to be in love with the woman who literally owned him. He’d kissed said woman, and she’d kissed him back before he’d fled in what he would admit had been a panic. It was likely he returned home to face additional punishment, and yet it was just now occurring to him that he could have taken this opportunity to actually try and make a real escape. To risk the punishments that Junius had cautioned him about, and that he felt confident he could avoid if he were careful and clever. Well, he was always clever, but he had been far from careful in recent days, and so he reasoned that running away was not his best option. Not while his mind was so tumultuous and raging with chaos.

For the first time since early childhood, Sherlock offered up a sincere prayer: that he would make it to his room without meeting Mariana, and that Junius’ wife was correct in her assertions that she hadn’t been angered by the kiss.

He desperately needed time to himself to meditate on the events of the last two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: 
> 
> Lena – brothel owner
> 
> Lupanar - brothel
> 
> Exepno einai to neo sexi – brainy is the new sexy (in Greek) And yes, I know it’s a bit anachronistic but I had to include it! For reasons!
> 
> Lucina – Roman goddess of childbirth, an aspect of Hera


	9. Liberum Obsequium - The Freedom In Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally start to heat up between Mariana Tullia and Sherlock. Thanks to nocturnias for her usual assistance, and to all those who read and follow and comment, you make my day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters Appearing In Or Mentioned In This Chapter:
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius (Mariana Tullia's good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)
> 
> A/N: S&M motifs in a dream including more flogging; Latin translations at end of chapter. Thanks to everyone for continuing to follow and read this, and for all the lovely reviews!

Sherlock discovered, upon his return to the Hortensius household, that he would enjoy quite a bit of time to himself, as a resolute Mariana decreed that he was to remain on the premises until she gave him permission to leave again. “Since you can’t seem to keep yourself out of trouble,” she added coolly, examining his bruised face as if she hadn’t already seen it. 

He stomped off to his room, face burning with a curious combination of anger, shame, and, although he hardly wished to admit it, excitement. Anger for being kenneled like a dog, shame at the way Mariana had spoken to him in front of other members of the household…and excitement, ridiculous though it was, at the aura of command she seemed to radiate.

Once he was in his room, he threw himself on his bed, then cursed in a multitude of languages as his back burned in protest. He was still at best a day away from being fully healed; at least Mariana hadn’t beaten him hard enough to break the skin, or else he’d be facing at least a week of convalescence. However, instead of calming him, all he did was agitate himself further at this reminder of his servile position and how much he resented it.

Or, the errant thought drifted across his mind, how much he was actually beginning to enjoy it, at least when it came to his direct interactions with Mariana Tullia. He huffed in annoyance and curled up as best he could considering his bandaged torso, then attempted to delve deep within his memory palace in order to find the peace he needed to bring order to his sorely disordered mind.

He fell asleep in that same pose, his mind drifting from thought to dream without his usual recognition of the transition from one state to the next.

_Her private bedchamber was meticulously reproduced in his mind’s eye, with one exception; the column that stood, solitary and unneeded, in the center of the room. Chains dangled, manacles at the end, and Sherlock found himself bound there, a blindfold over his eyes, arms overhead, surrounded by darkness and silence and the comfort of knowing his Domina was approaching._

_The first lash of the flogger against his flesh brought no pain, only a welcome burn that spread across his back and down his body until he felt himself stirring into hardness. Naked, he was naked now, where before he’d had the modesty of his loincloth. And yet, he felt no shame, only eagerness as he heard the whisper of her movements behind him, as she raised her arm and lowered it, lashing him again and again until he cried out in ecstasy, his body convulsing in near-orgasmic pleasure._

_He opened his eyes, to find himself no longer chained, Mariana – his Molly, his lover – awaiting him on her bed. Her exquisite body was bare to his eager gaze, her small breasts jutting proudly forward as she reclined on her elbows, a small smile dancing about her lips. He longed to kiss them, her lips, her breasts, every part of her body, and crawled to her, awaiting permission before joining her on the bed, reveling in the slight nod she gave as he gazed adoringly at her. His mouth consumed every part of her, from her toes to her shell-like ears, and she opened her legs to him, drawing him closer, her hands caressing him, teasing him, promising pleasures untold if he would only give in, allow her to have her way, show the proper deference as was her due._

_And in the dream, as he still could not do in his waking life, Sherlock gave her all that and more, until finally she allowed him to enter her, to press his hot flesh against the alabaster smoothness of her body, until his eager_ mentula _was sheathed in her_ cunnus _as they moved together, her soft cries encouraging him to speed his movements, thrusting deep within her as their mouths met and clung, kiss after kiss further enflaming his senses, her breasts warm against his chest, the_ mamilos _like pebbles, hard and yet yielding at the same time, and her breath coming in panting gasps as she moaned out his name... “Sherlock! Venus and Eros, please, yes, Sherlock, come for me now, come for me,_ expultrice…”

And he awoke with a strangled moan, his cock still pulsing, his belly and thighs slick with his ejaculate, body shuddering as his first bout of nocturnal emissions since puberty had struck finally ended.

oOo

Two days passed before he caught more than a fleeting glimpse of Mariana, although he was fully aware that she’d left the house several times, much earlier in the morning than usual, and made some mysterious purchases. He supposed he could attempt to deduce their nature, but refused to do so out of vague sense that if he did she’d be winning. Winning at what, he had no idea, but the stubborn notion refused to leave his mind.

He spent those days ostentatiously taking his rest in either the central courtyard or his own chambers, stoically enduring Marcia Faustina's brisk appraisals of his back. “You’re healing quite nicely,” she pronounced on the morning of the third day. “Once Mariana Tullia approves, we can remove these.”

His back was already feeling much better – normal, in his opinion – but when he started to remove the bandages that Marcia Faustina had just reapplied, she slapped his hands away. “No! The Domina left strict instructions that you were not to remove these! She wishes to examine your back herself when she returns.”

Sherlock’s ear pricked at that bit of news; he hadn’t heard her leave the house today, as she had the previous two days. “Where has she gone, out to deliver another brat?” he asked, being deliberately provocative. 

Marcia Faustina frowned as she lifted the shallow basin of water and soiled bandages and rose to her feet. “Sherlock, why must you continue to be such an insolent brat?” she asked with a sigh. “I swear, sometimes you’re more of a child than Marcus Aegyptus!”

He snorted and turned his head to face the wall. “Am not,” he mumbled, but only after he heard her leave his room.

He remained there for the entire morning and well past the noon hour, refusing to come out even to eat. Sulking, he supposed others would call it, but he called it preserving his sanity. If he left his room, he would feel compelled to seek out Mariana Tullia, if she’d returned, to demand that she remove his bandages. And if she hadn’t, then it was very possible he’d be tempted to examine her private quarters, to see if he could discover the nature of her mysterious packages. That sort of behavior would lead not only to another beating, but possibly even more severe consequences if he were accused of theft or worse.

It was very late when she finally did return to the house, and almost everyone was asleep. Everyone except him and Lucius, who had let her in and then locked the door behind her before returning to his post. Even though that had happened on the other side of the building, Sherlock had heard the faint ticking of her sandals as she approached his door.

He was lying on his stomach, resting his head on his crossed arms, when he heard his door open. He’d once again worked himself into a temper at being left to cool his heels for an extra day – since the Domina wasn’t there to give her permission, he still wasn’t allowed to leave or to continue his lessons with Marcus Aegyptus – and yet again allowed his anger to spill from his lips. “Oh, how nice of you to come by to check on me at last, _Domina_ ,” he spat out bitterly. “I do hope it won’t be too onerous a chore for you to approve the removal of these bandages before you retire for the night!”

oOo

She’d hoped he would have calmed himself, that the time left to reflect on his situation, the enforced idleness and his inability to leave the premises would have caused Sherlock to truly learn the error of his ways. But with those words, Mariana accepted the wisdom of Eirene’s words. Sherlock never would stop testing her unless she gave him what he needed…what they both craved.

She moved no closer to him, remained standing by the door, studying him by the light of the room’s single lamp. “Stand up,” she ordered him, then calmly waited to see how he would respond. She allowed herself to feel no excitement, no fear or worry, centered herself the way she did when delivering a baby.

He turned his head to look at her, his scowl fading into confusion as he stared at her. She met his gaze steadily, knowing that her face held no emotion for him to deduce or use as a weapon against her, just as Eirene had advised her. He slowly rose to his feet, and Mariana bit back a smile of triumph, feeling her heart beat just a bit faster as he obeyed. “Remove your bandages.”

Still looking puzzled, Sherlock removed his tunic and pulled the material from his body. As instructed, Marcia Faustina had only soaked them in wine this time, foregoing the honey, so it was a quicker process than it might have been otherwise. Mariana instructed him to rinse himself with clean water and he did so as she ordered him to turn so she could examine his back.

He was well healed, and in good enough shape for her to do what Eirene had further advised. Giving a curt nod as he redonned and belted his simple cotton tunic, Mariana gave a sharp nod and turned on her heel, uttering a final command as she did so. 

“Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin Translations (all very vulgar!)
> 
> Mentula – penis  
> Cunnus – vulva  
> Mamilos – nipples (Galacian rather than Latin, I just liked the way it sounded!)  
> Expultrice – ejaculate


	10. Vicit Scilicet, et Liberatam (Conquered and Freed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Mary Watson – Mariana Maxia Veturius (wife to Junius, mother of his future child)
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius (Mariana Tullia's half-sister & good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)
> 
> Warnings for sexual bondage including blindfolds, gags & manacles. And smexy stuff.

Mariana’s voice was sharp and cold, and Sherlock found himself obeying without consciously deciding to do so. He followed at her heels, his intestines knotted in a combination of unease and anticipation. Everything about her voice, her facial expression, the language writ into the lines of her body – it all told him that she’d settled on a manner in which to deal with his continued insolence and resentment…and he suspected a second whipping would not be a part of it.

 _What a pity_ , some part of his mind whispered, and he pictured her standing over him as she had in the courtyard, only this time it was just the two of them, exactly as he’d dreamed. Both of them naked, bodies gleaming with sweat, Mariana’s sweet mouth caressing the welts she’d raised on his back…

“Take off your clothes.”

Mariana’s words brought him out of his reverie, and he stared at her blankly for a moment before finally reversing his actions of only a few minutes earlier; he undid his belt, dropping it to the floor before lifting his tunic over his head and doing the same. He felt his eyebrows raising; this wasn’t what he’d anticipated, given her anger at him. The sexual attraction between the two of them had only been growing since their initial meeting, but he’d expected her to continue to deny it. After all, he was a slave and their relationship therefore forbidden, at least by law. And although Mariana ( _Molly_ , his mind whispered the pet name he’d made up for her, _my Molly_ …) was somewhat of a nonconformist in many ways, when it came to what she considered issues of morality, she’d always shown herself to be not only chaste but also a woman of quiet convictions.

Clearly he’d managed to upset those convictions with his continual defiance, his inexplicable need to provoke her even after she’d lost patience with him and had him whipped for insolence. He’d convinced himself that he’d acted that way only because he’d been sold into slavery and hated the idea of belonging to anyone, much less a woman. Now, however, he was forced to acknowledge that it was entirely due to her. He was in her bedroom and she had ordered him to remove his clothing, which could only mean that both her patience with him and her obedience to the laws of morality had finally come to an end.

As he reached for his loincloth, however, she stopped him with a cool, firm hand on his wrist. “That’s enough for now.” Maintaining eye contact the entire time, she said, “Kneel with your hands behind your back.” When he hesitated, her gaze turned steely and her voice even colder as she said, “NOW.”

Why her commanding demeanor should set his heart to pounding he refused to contemplate as he complied with her orders. In all the time he’d known Molly (yes, he would call her that inside his own mind, he refused to entirely bend to the decrees of others, by the Gods!) she’d never been so in control, not with him. With others, yes, but with him there had always been a hesitance. As if she wasn’t entirely sure of herself where he was concerned. He’d taken ruthless advantage of that hesitancy, but it appeared that phase of their relationship had come to an end.

She regarded him for a long moment, as if considering her next move, before stepping closer to the bed and lowering herself gracefully to one knee. Without removing her gaze from his, she reached beneath the carved wooden frame and pulled out a length of undyed fabric, plain cotton but finely woven. An unfinished belt, perhaps, or a strip eventually meant to be woven through her thick cinnamon tresses…

Further speculation was cut off as she stood back up and walked over to him, standing so close that he was forced to crane his neck in order to meet her eyes. A disconcerting sensation, since he was used to towering over others from his lanky height. She held the fabric taut in her hands and his eyes widened as he understood what she meant to do with it.

He tensed as she moved behind him, his eyes shutting automatically as she lowered the strip of fabric over his face. He felt her tying a firm knot at the back, but not so tight as to be painful. She even took the time to sweep his hair from beneath it, smoothing it with her fingers before moving away from him.

He strained to hear her movements, to give himself some sort of clue as to what she planned next, his heart hammering in his chest no matter how much he tried to slow it by taking deep, measured breaths. His blood rushing in his ears covered many of the softer sounds Mariana made, but he distinctly recognized the sound of chains rattling, and his hands clenched into fists behind his back as he considered tearing off the blindfold and bolting from the room.

“Stay where you are,” she ordered him, as if reading his thoughts. More likely she read the set of his shoulders and saw the tight line of his mouth, deducing him exactly as he so often deduced others. Conversely this helped him to relax, to regain some control over his reactions; his breathing slowed and so did his heartbeat, allowing him to hear the rustling of the bedclothes as she arranged the chains…near the headboard, he thought, brow furrowing in concentration, the soft fabric covering his eyes shifting slightly with the movement. Then there was silence, although he could feel her gaze upon him, or thought he did. 

Her approach was heralded by the soft whisper of her sandals on the floor and the scent of her perfume grazing his nose, which twitched in reaction to the scent. He considered pretending to sneeze, but her next movements once again froze him in place: with a soft sigh of fabric, he heard her removing her clothing and allowing it to fall to the floor. “Come with me,” she said, and he rose unsteadily to his feet, off balance by the enforced blindness, or so he told himself.

She took his arm and led him slowly, carefully to her bed, pressing on his shoulders to indicate he should sit. He did so, his groin tightening at the sensation of her hands on his bare flesh, lying back against the mound of pillows, legs extended and hands by his side.

He had already started to raise his arms in anticipation of her next command, and stifled a smirk at the sound of her light gasp of surprise. Did she think he would fight her, humiliate himself further by forcing her to have him held down while she manacled his wrists? No one would say a word against her in this house; her slaves and servants were far too loyal to carry gossip to the market, even gossip as salacious as the fact that Mariana Tullia had taken a slave as a lover.

Her fingers tugging at his hair, forcing his head back so that his chin pointed toward the ceiling, told him that she’d seen that almost-smirk. “Don’t move unless I tell you to. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” he replied, sullenly refusing to use her title. If this was to be a battle of wills, he was determined to succeed in the one area where she could fault him least; he would obey her commands to the letter, but unless she forced him to, he refused to use her title.

Mariana released her grip on his hair (firm, the analytical part of his mind noted, but not painfully so) and he felt her leaning over him. He heard the rattle of chains and once again tensed; although part of him was screaming at him not to let her do this, panicking at the thought of what she could do to him once he was helpless, the rest of him only sighed and murmured _yesssss_.

While he fought his inner conflict, she lifted his wrists one at a time, crossing them over his head and closing the manacles around them. They were lined with something – leather, he thought, yes, he could smell it now – so that it wasn’t simply bare metal on his skin.

Sherlock remained utterly still as she chained him to the headboard, but he couldn’t stop his mouth from spewing out the deductions as soon as he made them, mostly because of that panicky part of his mind. “You’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time now. Not just taking my virginity,” he curled his lip to show how much value he placed on that so-called ‘commodity’, “but how exactly you plan to do it. To demonstrate your control over me. No doubt your half-sister the lena coached you on the correct procedures to use when you visited her last, possibly to help one of her girls rid herself of an unwanted pregnancy.”

As soon as he stopped speaking he felt Mariana’s fingers on his head again, this time tugging the blindfold off so she could gaze down at him. He took in the sight of her nude form, automatically cataloging the size and shape of her breasts, the graceful curve of her waist, the sight of her body bare of any ornamentation at all, before forcing his sullen gaze back up to meet hers.

Instead of losing her temper, Mariana simply leaned back, holding the blindfold loosely in one hand. “I am not an abortionist, Sherlock. You should know me better by now.” Her voice was quietly chastising and he felt a flash of shame; she was right, he did know better. His Molly (wait, when had she become ‘his’ anything, what was _wrong_ with him?) was a healer, not a killer; he’d seen her mourning the deaths of the few infants and mothers who hadn’t survived the birthing process over which she’d presided, and knew she felt each loss keenly. But it wasn’t in him to apologize unless forced, and so he simply gritted his teeth and turned his head away, unable to face the disappointment in her eyes.

He heard her rising to her feet, but refused to turn his head to see what she was doing, instead relying on his hearing. He heard the sound of a basket being pulled from beneath the bed, the rustle of fabric – was she returning the blindfold to its holding place? No, he concluded as he felt the bed settle beneath her slight weight, she’d selected a second piece. Unable to contain his curiosity – and rising apprehension – he turned to face her again.

In spite of his mental commands to himself not to look below her neck, he couldn’t stop himself; once again he found his eyes taking in the details of her nude form. She’d removed every stitch of clothing, leaving herself not even the modesty she’d allowed him.

A modesty he very much appreciated as his examination of her was causing a very primal stirring in his loins, to his dismay. He’d seen naked women before, more than once and a few times under very similar circumstances, where seduction was the goal, but never had his body betrayed him by reacting like that of any other man, except when she was involved. His cheeks flushed with heat and the tightening in his groin continued to plague him as he examined her.

Her legs were smooth, her pale body marked only by the tuft of dark hair at the juncture of torso and legs, covering her sex. He hips had a pleasing swell to them and her stomach looked touchably soft. Her breasts, as he’d already noted, were small but jutted proudly, her nipples a lighter pink surrounded by the darker aureoles and seeming disproportionately large juxtaposed against the small (yet perfectly shaped) globes that supported them.

His mouth watered at the sight, and he swallowed involuntarily, then tightened his lips in annoyance as he finally brought his gaze up to Mariana’s face…and saw the quietly triumphant expression she wore. “The body is only transport for the mind,” he snapped, lifting his chin in an attempt at a mocking challenge. “If you think I can’t retain control over my own body…”

He fell silent as she showed him the two narrow strips of dark fabric she now held, the blindfold and a slighter narrower piece. Then, without speaking or reacting to his words, she once again knelt on the bed, moving with serene confidence to straddle his body while never touching it with her own. He swallowed again, hard, and waited with mingled anticipation and alarm for her to make the next move.

It wasn’t long in coming. First she held up the narrower of the two strips of cloth, holding it against his lips, the intent obvious. He considered struggling, but contented himself with glaring at her while obediently cracking his mouth open enough for her to slip the silky fabric between his teeth. He even went so far as to raise his head to allow her to knot it, although it was uncomfortable returning to his original position and feeling it digging into the lower part of his head. Mariana then repeated the process with the larger strip of fabric, unknotting it and re-covering his eyes. Bound, blindfolded, and gagged, he was now utterly helpless to resist anything she wished to do to him.

So why, he wondered, did he feel a sudden lightening of his spirit, as if by binding him she’d somehow…set him free?

Then she started touching him, driving all other thoughts from his mind except how exquisitely gentle her fingertips felt as they started gliding across his abdomen. He'd never felt anything like this before in his life. Mariana's hands were small but strong, and he grunted involuntarily when she brushed them against the growing bulge beneath his loincloth. The blindfold meant he couldn’t anticipate her movements, which was obviously exactly what she wanted. She was touching him everywhere, only occasionally gliding her hands across the fabric covering his prick and bollocks, and it was almost more than he could bear.

He still couldn’t fathom how he’d allowed himself to be placed into this position, with only his senses of touch and scent to guide him since Mariana maintained the silence that had fallen over her since putting the blindfold and gag in place. No sight, no ability to speak, barely any sound; only the scent of incense and candle wax in the air, silence filling his ears, the touch of Mariana’s hands on his body and the feel of his bonds as he involuntarily strained against them whenever her fingers found a particularly sensitive area. Yes, he’d pushed her again, but he couldn’t help it; there was just something about her that destroyed his sense of self-preservation, and made him want to tear down that cool façade she seemed to feel was necessary for her to be taken seriously in her chosen roles. He ignored the internal voice that jibed it was exactly how he felt he had to present himself to the world…then listened to it when it added that perhaps this was her way of pushing him.

No, no ‘perhaps’ about it. That was exactly it. That sudden insight was like a bolt of lightning, but instead of giving him purely intellectual satisfaction, it was as if the lightning had struck him directly in the groin, jolting along every nerve ending until his entire body was lit up from within with a furious energy.

He was unable to control his physical reaction; his hips jutted upward and a strangled curse left his throat, robbed of clarity by the silken fabric between his lips. Mariana laughed, the first sound she’d made since gagging and blindfolding him…how long ago? His sense of time was usually accurate, but he had no idea if he’d been bound like this for mere minutes or an hour or even longer.

He felt the bed move; Mariana was crawling toward him, he could picture it clearly in his mind’s eye, so clearly that he didn’t flinch when he felt her hot breath on his ear as she whispered, “What is my title, slave?” Deft fingers undid the gag and he coughed a bit as the fabric was removed. There was more movement, then the sound of some sort of liquid being poured from one container to another. Mariana’s hand on his neck encouraged him to raise his head, and he felt the edge of a clay mug against his lips. He sipped gratefully at the water, vaguely surprised that it wasn’t wine. If the end-game of all this was to strip him of his virginity (his cock twitched at the mental vision he suddenly had of her naked form writhing against his), then surely it would be in her best interests to do everything she could to get him to cooperate.

He snorted internally at that thought. Right. As if he wasn’t as eager to be inside her as she was to have him there. Their physical union had been a foregone conclusion from the moment she purchased him, every clash and feint between them leading inevitably to this time and place. He saw now what he should have seen from the beginning, when she’d looked at him with such hunger in the slave market. Mariana Maxia and Eirene, he thought with a burst of wry humor, had turned out to be right after all.

He dismissed them from his mind with ease, his thoughts turning once again to the woman kneeling by his side. He shouldn’t welcome what she was doing, shouldn’t want to let her take him like this, but knew he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t be disappointed if this was as far as she took things. The fact that she’d restrained him like this told him nothing new about her; she liked to be in control, and as a woman forging a life for herself within the restrictive patriarchal Roman Empire, he could understand that.

What he still didn’t understand, not entirely, was why he wasn’t fighting that control.

Apparently Mariana had grown impatient with his continued silence; he felt her fingers tugging at his hair, forcing his blindfolded face upwards as she repeated her question, her voice more demanding this time.

“Say it, Sherlock.” Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, while at the same time her other hand stroked his cheek as gently as if he were Marcus Aegyptus in need of comforting. “Say it, and _mean_ it this time.”

Saying the word she wanted to hear would be giving in. Putting himself willingly in her power. Was he ready for that step? After only a few seconds consideration, he took a deep breath and let it out in a soft sigh of capitulation, then whispered, “Domina.” No sarcasm tinged his voice or his thoughts; there was no hesitation, no sneer on his mouth or resentment in the word. 

He was rewarded by the feeling of her lips on his, a soft, sweet kiss that nevertheless acted like oil on a raging fire, inflaming his already-sensitized nerves, hardening his cock to almost painful stiffness. He let out a groan as she eased her grip on his head, lowering it to the pillow. Then he felt her moving, the touch of her naked thighs against his as her hands drifted down his chest, nails grazing his nipples, which tightened in response. 

Now that his mouth was unrestrained, he found no need for words, his weapon of choice. No, the war between them was over, with victory declared on both sides. Instead, he offered her soft sighs and groans as she continued to explore his body, a gasp of encouragement as he felt her hands slide down his abdomen and tug at the knots holding the loincloth in place. When she removed the garment, it was an incredible sensation, like none he’d ever felt before, the cool air against his overheated flesh, his cock freed from its prison of sweat-dampened fabric to bob above his stomach.

This time when she brushed her palm against his bollocks there was nothing between his flesh and hers, and as she grasped his length in her small but strong hands, he found himself once again gasping out the title she’d demanded of him, the one she’d more than earned. A title that had nothing to do with the legalities of ownership, or the circumstances of his enslavement.

“Domina.”

Then she lowered her head and took him in her sweet, warm mouth, and he came completely undone. This was utterly unlike those few occasions when he’d pleasured himself with his hands, the times when his body’s demands became too strong to resist; he lacked the sense of shame he normally felt at giving in to such base needs. With a strangled shout he tried to warn her away, but she ignored him, continuing to move her head up and down, swallowing down as much of his length as she could manage until he shouted again, his entire body straining as his ejaculate spurted into her mouth. He felt her throat moving, and realized with a sense of wonder that she was swallowing down his emissions, her tongue continuing to stroke his shaft as his mind went completely blank with pleasure.

He simply lay there, panting, body covered in a light sheen of sweat as Mariana moved off the bed. He heard the rustle of clothing again and realized with a feeling of disbelief that she was preparing to dress herself. “Domina?” he asked tentatively, moving his still-blindfolded head in her general direction. “Are we…finished?”

It was an awkward question to ask, but he honestly had no idea what to expect now. He heard her approaching the bed again and felt her hands at his wrists, releasing his manacles. Once freed, he immediately sat up and removed the blindfold, blinking a bit as his eyes adjusted the dim lighting.

Mariana was sitting on the bed, legs curled up beneath her and sipping from a cup of wine. She held his gaze steadily as she finished her drink, then set the cup down on the table and stood up, bending gracefully to pick up her discarded clothing. “For now,” she said, then turned and left the bedchamber, closing the door to her private dressing room behind her.


	11. Consultum Quaesita , Beneficium Rursum (Advice Sought, A Favor Returned)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing in or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion, also Marcia Faustina's cousin)
> 
> Phillip Anderson – Phillipus Didius Annius (local barber wooing Mariana Tullia's personal maid)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Irene Adler – Eirene Sylvia Aedinius (Mariana Tullia's half-sister & good friend, owner of a local brothel and invaluable dispenser of advice regarding…)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)

As soon as the door shut behind her, Mariana nearly collapsed to the floor, shaking so badly her teeth rattled in her mouth. Had she just done that, taken such utter control of Sherlock, commanded him, put her mouth on him, kissed him and tasted him? Where had the strong, confident woman come from, she wondered as she pressed her fingers to her lips, the salty warmth of his _expultrice_ still flavoring the inside of her mouth, evidence that it hadn’t been just a dream?

She listened to the sounds from outside the door; the rustling of the bed linens, his feet hitting the floor, quieter movement that were probably the sounds of him dressing himself. There was a silence for a long moment, then she heard his footsteps approaching the dressing room, and held her breath, waiting, wondering what he would do or say – and what she would do or say in response.

The silence held; she heard what might have been a sigh, a loud expulsion of breath, and then his footsteps heading in the opposite direction.

Still shaking, Mariana rested her forehead on her knees, hugging her legs tightly to her chest, and wondered if she’d just made the most foolish mistake of her young life.

oOo

Sherlock was in a daze, a most unaccustomed sensation for him. What had passed between himself and Mariana Tullia just now had been… _mirum, harrigarria_ – amazing in any language. Transcending, even, in a way he’d never have believed so basic a physical experience could be.

He needed to process the sea change his way of thinking had undergone, to catalogue all the sensations his _domina_ had awoken in him, to come to terms with the fact that he had not only permitted her to dominate him in that manner…but that he’d wanted her to do so.

And still did.

He also, he thought with a frown as he returned to his own quarters, needed to see if he could puzzle out why she’d stopped when she did…and what the next step in their new relationship might be.

Two days later, he still had no idea.

It wasn’t that Mariana Tullia was purposefully avoiding him\; it was simply that they were both suddenly too busy for any sort of meaningful interaction. Sherlock had cautiously come to the conclusion that she needed to make the next move, if any were forthcoming, and had set himself to wait and see – just as, it seemed, every cursed patient of Mariana’s had decided to either give birth or suffer from complications that demanded her full time and attention. And just as Marcus Aegyptus had decided to demonstrate to his tutor exactly what had driven away so many of the others that had been employed in increasingly futile attempts to drill some learning into the boy’s skull.

Sherlock recognized his own culpability as soon as Marcus was discovered purloining goblets of wine from patrons at a local drinking establishment – not to drink them himself, as Gaius Flavius explained while trying to maintain a straight face, but to give to every slave or servant he saw passing by. The owner had collared the lad and dragged him to the vigils, thrusting him roughly into Gaius Flavius’ hands and demanding that he be punished. He’d been soothed with a promise of remuneration for his outraged – and presumably still thirsty – customers, and Sherlock had been summoned to take care of both.

After making Marcus pay out of his own meager allowance – which was, admittedly, more than enough to cover the cost of the cheap wine and was entirely possible considering how he tended to hoard his coins like the cheapest of misers – Sherlock took him to the market for a long overdue lesson in observation, Barbarossa happily ambling along at their heels. The dog had learned to come when called and to remain close to Marcus’ side on any excursions away from home. “So you won’t get caught the next time you try such a fool stunt,” Sherlock said by way of explanation. 

“You won’t tell Mariana about this, Sherlock, will you?” Marcus widened his eyes in a passable – but obvious – attempt at looking innocent and vulnerable.

His tutor shook his head and rolled his eyes. “If I don’t, Gaius Flavius will,” he pointed out. “Unless you think you can bribe him into silence? No? I didn’t think so,” he said drily as Marcus’ face fell in disappointment. “Would you rather she heard it from him or from me?” He waited for an answer, not meaning the question to be rhetorical, and knowing Marcus knew it as well.

After thinking for a moment, Marcus squared his shoulders and looked up at Sherlock. “I think she’d want to hear it from me,” he decided, and Sherlock nodded approvingly.

As a reward, Sherlock purchased them each a honey cake from a nearby vendor, and they sat munching them in the shade of a temple portico where they’d taken refuge from the afternoon sun. As they sat in companionable silence, Sherlock found himself musing on the boy’s relationship with his sister-turned-guardian – and realized with a start that the boy still hadn’t fully forgiven her for whipping his beloved mentor in so public a fashion. He listened solemnly as Sherlock, from his new perspective, carefully explained how he’d brought the punishment on himself. “But why can’t you speak your mind, Sherlock?” Marcus asked as he finished up his honey cake – whose vendor, Sherlock decided, could use a few lessons in baking from Marcia Faustina.

As for his charges’ question… “The simple answer is that I’m a slave,” Sherlock replied, not with bitterness or anger, simply stating a fact. “The more complicated answer lies in how not only Rome but the rest of the world is run; my people keep slaves as well and so do many other cultures.”

“Mariana doesn’t like it, and neither do I,” Marcus announced, face scrunched in annoyance. He licked the last of the sticky treat from his fingers, then pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin and gazing moodily at nothing. “But she still whipped you just for talking back to her. It doesn’t seem fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Sherlock said bluntly. “But the only thing that can bring about change is enough people wanting that change.”

Marcus’ eyes lit up, and Sherlock hid a grin as he announced, “I want to be one of those people, Sherlock!”

He felt a fierce stab of pride at the determination in the boy’s voice, and realized that in spite of what he saw as a misstep on his sister’s part, he still took her beliefs on the injustice of slavery to heart. Perhaps one day things would change, and if they did, Marcus Aegyptus would be one of the reasons they did.

As would Mariana. 

Sherlock’s mind drifted back to that memorable night, reliving the events that had occurred in Mariana Tullia’s bedchamber while Marcus rambled on about everything from social injustice to honey cakes. Once he returned the boy – and Barbarossa, who lay panting at their feet – to the Hortensius household, Sherlock was determined to make a visit to a certain _lena_ and ask her advice.

oOo

“Your visitor, _domina_.”

The servant who had made the announcement bowed and left Eirene alone with Sherlock in her private courtyard. She’d been surprised when she’d seen who had asked to speak to her in private, and was further surprised to find that he was unaccompanied by his _domina_. “Does Mariana Tullia know you’re here?”

He shook his head, but showed no signs of furtiveness or embarrassment. So he wasn’t here on some personal errand, to take advantage of one of her girls or boys during his free time. Interesting. No, not interesting – encouraging. “Are you here on an errand for Mariana Tullia?” she asked, unwinding herself from her seat, knowing that her loose gown showed off her figure to perfection. The fact that his eyes never left her face was at once disconcerting and, again, encouraging.

He shook his head again, then shifted slightly from one foot to the other, but showed no other signs of discomfort as he said, “I came to speak with you, Eirene. About Mariana Tullia, yes, but also about…something that happened between us two nights ago.”

Eirene raised an eyebrow as she slowly sank back onto her couch, indicating the seat opposite hers, although Sherlock seemed too agitated now to sit. “What happened?” she asked, although she had an inkling.

“We argued – no, I was insolent to her,” he quickly corrected himself. He was standing still, but Eirene read in every twitch and flex of his fingers that he wanted very much to be pacing. “And then she ordered me to her rooms, bade me strip, and…” He swallowed, looking away as he mumbled, “chained me to her bed.”

Both of Eirene’s eyebrows threatened to climb into her carefully coiffed hair at that revelation. Oho, so Mariana Tullia had not only taken her advice to heart, but had followed it to the letter it seemed! “And then?” she asked, knowing the tale didn’t end there.

Sherlock looked around uneasily, as if expecting to find eavesdroppers. “She…pleasured me with her mouth, then just…unchained me and left!”

Eirene leaned back, raising one hand to her chin as she regarded him through hooded eyes. “And now you’re upset? Because she didn’t immediately take your precious virginity the way you expected her to?”

“My virginity is hardly ‘precious’,” he scoffed, and she could tell he meant it. “I just don’t understand why she would do such a thing and then simply…walk away.”

He sounded so lost and forlorn that Eirene decided to take pity on him. “Sherlock, sit down, you’re giving me a neck-ache from having to look up at you all the time,” she ordered him, using the tone of voice usually reserved for her ‘special’ clients. It was a test of sorts, and she was pleased to see him instantly obey, dropping onto the low couch opposite her basket-chair, but not lounging as it was meant to be occupied. No, there was far too much nervous energy in the boy for him to be able to relax in her presence – nervous energy and a definite air of guilt. She kept her smile to herself as she realized that she’d been right, the first time she’d seen him; he had it just as badly as Mariana did. The poor thing was truly bewildered by his mistresses’ actions, but there was more to it than mere wounded male pride. He was twisting himself up, torn by conflicting desires; wishing to prove himself master of his own fate, and at the same wanting to allow Mariana to continue to take him under her control.

Surrendering himself willingly to her was a choice he’d made, but he still wasn’t fully at peace with that choice.

“You have to make the next move, Sherlock,” Eirene finally said. Not what he’d expected, she could see the confusion only growing in his face – and his irritation. If there was one thing she’d learned about him, it was that he hated not understanding things. “She is your _domina_ , yes, but she needs to know that you agree to this…arrangement. That you aren’t capitulating simply because she is your literal owner. She needs to know that she owns your heart as well,” she explained, leaning forward and laying a sympathetic hand on his knee. “Which means you actually have the power right now.”

His eyes lit up; she could practically see the frantic thoughts racing through his mind, and this time she didn’t cover up her amused smile. Oh, the two of them were so precious, so innocent, yet so ripe for the joys of carnal knowledge that they’d each denied themselves for far too long. With that in mind, she continued speaking, explaining exactly what Sherlock needed to do next. She knew better than to suggest he practice on one of her girls – or herself – even though she knew he would have no real idea how to proceed with her suggestions. Instead, she indulged her own appetites by allowing him to watch her favorite servant perform the actions on her.

When Sherlock left the brothel a half-hour later, he was greatly enlightened on a number of subjects, but his mind could only focus on the final lesson that Eirene and her handmaiden had demonstrated for him.

He could hardly wait to try it out on Mariana.

oOo

It had been another horrendously exhausting day for Mariana Tullia, two in a row now. Thank the Gods none of her expectant mothers had died or lost their babies; the newborns she’d delivered – four of them! – were all well and healthy so far, and the herbs she’d administered to two women on the brink of miscarriage had helped them past their crises.

All she wanted now was to soak in a hot tub and have Salonina Theodora rub soothing oils on her back and massage her troubles away after. Then she would eat, have a goblet of wine, and sleep for at least a full day.

She ordered the bath drawn by one of the other servants, and told the woman to fetch Salonina after Mariana had already entered the water; she wanted at least fifteen minutes of privacy before being fussed over by her maidservant. 

As she sank into the inviting warmth and began pouring water over her hair, she found her mind not on the women whose babies she’d just delivered, or the lives she’d saved – at least for the moment – but on a certain slave whom she’d barely seen since that one particular night. She’d been so distraught after bringing him to her bedchamber and following Eirene’s advice, but after two days spent returning to her normal life – no matter how hectic – she had finally come to peace with her decision.

Part of her fears had been that she was proving herself to be exactly what Sherlock had so bitterly accused her of being – nothing but a typical Roman, running roughshod over the lives of those beneath her, arrogantly taking instead of asking permission. But then she recalled his sigh of capitulation when he’d called her ‘ _domina_ ’, how beautifully he’d responded to everything she’d done, and she knew it had been the right decision. After all, Sherlock knew Rome almost as well as someone who’d been born and raised here by now; he had access to money, he’d made connections during his work with Gaius Flavius and the vigils, and he could just as easily have overpowered her, chained _her_ to the bed and gagged her, and fled. She had no doubt whatsoever that he was clever enough to keep from being caught, to eventually make his way back to Angle’s Land and his own people, had he so desired.

But he hadn’t. He’d stayed, and put himself completely in her power. And if she read his reactions correctly, he would be willing to do so again. However, she resolved to give them both some time to adjust to this change in their relationship – and to allow him the freedom to refuse to continue if he so desired. The thought of never feeling his hands on her body, his lips against hers brought a pain to Mariana’s chest, and she bit her lip to hold in a sigh. Oh, she wanted him, ached for him – but it had to be he who made the next move.

Mariana had reached this decision and begun lazily scrubbing herself when she heard the bathing chamber door squeak open. Without looking she called over her shoulder, “I left the oils on the shelf, Salonina, could you bring them over? I’ve already done my hair, so don’t bother scolding me for not letting you act as a proper ladies maid!”

Instead of a response she heard footsteps as Salonina padded across the blue-and-white tiled mosaic floor, probably too put out at once again being foiled in her goal to turn Mariana into the most pampered woman in Rome to respond properly. Shrugging off the woman’s sullenness – Mariana knew she was at fault here, technically, but playing the helpless autocrat was hardly her style even as tired as she was – she returned to running the sponge over her arms, reveling in the luxury of the private bath her father had gone to considerable expense to install in their family home after Mariana’s uncle contracted gangrene in one of the public baths when she was just a child. She barely remembered him, the first Marcus Aegyptus, but her father’s insistence on the family using only the bath he had built resounded even to this day, to the point where she even allowed the servants and slaves its use. The waters were drained and the tiles scrupulously scrubbed once a week, and so far no one had become ill from its use.

The sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle brought her back to the present, and she sniffed approvingly as the light scent of jasmine diffused into the steamy room. “Oh, yes, thank you, Salonina,” she murmured, scooping up a handful of water and pouring it down her back. “Just what I was in the mood for.” She reached up to pin her wet hair more securely to her head, then leaned forward in anticipation of her maid’s hands rubbing the oil into her neck and shoulders.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt strong fingers massaging her flesh, and a soft sigh of appreciation escaped her lips before she could stop it. She smiled and bent her head further as Salonina’s hands moved over her shoulders, her palms rubbing circles against the bottoms of her shoulder blades and her fingers stroking the flesh of her collarbone.

Mariana’s eyes popped open and she stiffened as her mind belatedly caught up with what her body was feeling. Salonina was strong, yes, but her hands were hardly large enough to reach around from shoulder blades to collarbone, and her fingers were a warm brown, not pale white – or masculine.

She turned her head so sharply she nearly smashed into Sherlock’s nose. He’d leaned forward, lips pursed as if about to lay a kiss on her, and she gaped at him. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice growing in confidence as she pushed down her initial confusion. He must never see her as a gibbering mess, she reminded herself, Eirene’s words whispering in the back of her mind as she attempted a haughty glare. _You must always be in control, Mariana; no matter how much you ache for him, he must ache for you more._

Sherlock’s expression was unfathomable, at least at first. It was only the slightest thing – a flicker of his eyelashes, a downward twitch of his lips – that told Mariana he wasn’t nearly as insouciant about this encounter as he was pretending to be. “I thought you might like some…personal attention,” he finally said. “Salonina is off seeing her lover, that idi…ah, Phillipus, the barber,” he corrected himself as Mariana’s eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. “She’s meeting him under the, erm, belief that her services are not required this afternoon.”

Mariana raised an eyebrow, not moving one inch further from him, and noting that he showed no signs of moving either, in spite of the fact that they were literally speaking into one another’s faces. “And what gave her that impression?” she asked. 

He didn’t even flicker an eyelash this time as he said, “I told her so.” Keeping his eyes directly on hers, he leaned forward the last few inches separating them and brushed his lips across hers, pulling back slightly and gauging her reaction.

She made him wait, just as Eirene had instructed her to do. Training him, she’d called it, and Mariana couldn’t argue since it clearly seemed to be working, if the throbbing pulse in Sherlock’s long, pale neck and the veiled eagerness in his captivating blue-green eyes was anything to go by. Just as she saw uncertainty (and of course a flicker of annoyance, this was Sherlock, after all) in his eyes at her hesitation, she moved her head closer and kissed him, flicking her tongue across his lips the way Eirene had demonstrated for her.

He opened his mouth with a small gasp, allowing Mariana to slip her tongue between his lips and glide along the inside of his mouth. After a very brief moment when it seemed he wouldn’t respond, Sherlock met her tongue’s caresses with his own, soft glides soon turning to enthusiastic thrusts.

Mariana rose to her knees when the kiss ended, water cascading down her body, making her feel as if she were a nymph seducing some unsuspecting mortal…a powerful feeling she relished. She took Sherlock’s hand in hers, being sure to maintain eye contact as she lowered it to her right breast. He sucked in a startled breath, as if he hadn’t expected the move, and she rejoiced inwardly although outwardly maintained her cool façade.

Without prompting he moved his other hand to cover her remaining breast, and Mariana let out a soft sigh at the sensation. His hands were so large they easily covered her breasts; for the first time in her young life she felt pleased at their small size, thoroughly enjoying the sight of them engulfed by his palms, his fingers softly squeezing, exploring her as she silently encouraged him to do so by arching her back. Her nipples had hardened, and she watched as he pulled his hands away to study the taut nubs. A glance was all the permission he needed to lower his head to her breasts, dabbing his tongue against her damp flesh, reaching up to roll the other nipple between his fingers, pinching lightly.

Mariana could no longer hold back her reactions as she felt a flush of desire sheet her body like a flame; she cradled his head to her breast, softly encouraging him as gasps and low moans escaped her lips. He continued to worship her body with his mouth and hands as he helped her up from the sunken bath, bringing her to the low couch where he’d laid fresh sheets to soak up the water still dripping from her body.

Mariana’s exhaustion had vanished under the haze of desire she felt. She still wasn’t ready for the ultimate act of passion between a man and a woman, but she was eager to see what Sherlock had in mind. However, Eirene’s admonishments stayed with her, and she made certain to keep control of the situation, moving his head about with light tugs to his hair, bringing his fingers to brush lightly across her sex when his hand rested for too long on her hip without moving. 

He moved willingly wherever she guided him, but she couldn’t help but notice that his head kept delving further down her body whenever she allowed him to move his mouth from her breasts. She’d been enjoying the sensation of his lips and tongues on her swollen nipples so much that it hadn’t occurred to her that he might wish to continue to explore the rest of her body – or that he might have an actual destination in mind. So when she felt his tongue tentatively flick against her slit, she startled, bucking her hips and raising her head from where it had fallen back on her shoulders.

Sherlock raised his head at the same time as she lifted herself on her elbows. Their eyes met, his uncertain yet eager, hers wide with anticipation. He raised a questioning eyebrow, she responded with a slight nod, and the smile that lit his face was possibly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Then he lowered his head to her sex and returned to his ministrations, and Mariana Tullia knew that this was one step closer to full carnal knowledge between them – and that that final step would not be long in coming.

oOo

She was letting him do this, granting permission for something Sherlock had half-expected her to forbid. He’d observed Eirene and her handmaiden closely when they’d performed this act for him, and although it had certainly aroused him in ways he’d never anticipated, actually doing the deed himself was even more arousing. Touching Mariana had been sublime; tasting her was like tasting the nectar of the Gods, a bliss like none other.

Her scent and taste were a feast for his senses; the sweet moisture gathered between her nether lips musky but with a light flavoring of the jasmine oil that still clung to his hands, and a soft undertone of honeysuckle that came from the salts she’d had poured into her bath. He had to work hard not to completely lose himself in his own pleasure, remembering what Eirene had showed him, the secret pearl all women held hidden in their folds – and that so many men failed to recognize as the key to their partner’s pleasure, he’d been admonished.

Mariana’s soft moans and sighs quickly became a keening cry, swiftly muffled as she threw her arm over her mouth. Sherlock was certain he heard his name among a cry to Eros and Venus, and felt no small amount of smugness at the thought of undoing his _domina_ as she had undone him. He decided to experiment a bit, suckling softly at her inner pearl as if it were the nub of one of her small, perfect breasts, and was rewarded by another muffled cry and a jerk of her hips. 

Concentrating on that small ridge of flesh as it stiffened beneath his mouth (somewhat like a penis, part of his mind observed, filing the thought away for future study), he accidently slid one of fingers inside her, and was further rewarded by yet more of those sharp cries – and very definitely the sound of his own name escaping her lips. He moved his fingers and tongue in unison, and Mariana’s self-control seemed to completely shatter; her entire body went rigid, and to his wonder he could actually feel her flesh pulsing softly against his mouth and taste a slight difference in the dewy moisture beneath his tongue.

He continued licking and sucking until Mariana’s fingers tugged at his hair, bidding him stop. He pulled away reluctantly, still categorizing all the tastes and sounds and scents, the feel of her body, the way she moved, but rose to his knees and gazed down at her. He wiped absently at the dampness on his face, automatically bringing his fingers to his nose before licking every last bit of her from his flesh, all the while studying her body as she lay beneath him, no part of her hidden to his view. A rosy flush colored her ivory flesh from her breasts to the top of her forehead; her eyes were heavy lidded, one hand thrown across her damp hair, the other resting on her abdomen. “Have I pleased you, _domina_?” he asked, quirking up the corner of his lips in acknowledgement of the purely rhetorical nature of the question he’d just asked – but being vain and uncertain enough to wish to hear her tell him so.

Instead of responding in words, Marian surged up so that she, too, rested on her knees, their faces as close together as they’d been when they’d kissed. She lifted her hands and cupped his face, pulling him forward for a kiss that felt as if it contained all the fire in the world. He wondered absently if she tasted as pleasant to herself as she did to him, then found that his thoughts had almost completely shut down as she released his face and began to tug at the belt to his tunic.

It took him every ounce of his control to reach down and grasp her wrists, stopping her frantic motions and waiting until she met his gaze to speak. “No, _domina_ , this isn’t about me,” he said. “Just you. Only you, this time, my Molly.”

The name slipped out before he could stop himself, and he gave an inward curse as her eyes widened in surprise. He hoped she understood that it wasn’t meant as a mockery or disrespect, but when he hastened to assure her of that, she stopped him with another sweet kiss and tugged her hands free of his restraint in order to caress his face again. “Only when we are alone together, Sherlock, _dulcia_.”

He was forced to swallow at the sudden lump in his throat; no one had called him by any sort of endearment since his mother had died when he was still a boy. He bowed his head to hide the surfeit of emotion he was certain must be showing on his face, and to demonstrate his acquiescence to her wishes. “Yes, _domina_ ,” he said thickly, clasping her hands and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dulcia = my sweet  
> mirum, harrigarria = amazing  
> expultrice = ejaculate  
> lena = brothel owner


	12. Aliquid Novum (Something New Begins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing in or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> John Watson – Junius Hadrian Veturius (former army doctor whose life was once saved by a young Brittonic scholar/soldier named Sherlock)
> 
> Mary Watson – Mariana Maxia Veturius (wife to Junius, mother of his future child)
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's troublesome younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion, also Marcia Faustina's cousin)
> 
> Phillip Anderson – Phillipus Didius Annius (local barber wooing Mariana Tullia's personal maid)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, currently being wooed by a local barber)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Bill Wiggins – Vergilius Felix Hortensius (General dogsbody and errand boy for the Hortensius family, a slave)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, Mariana Tullia's eventual lover)
> 
> Sorry, no sexy times this time around, but look out for next chapter! My thanks as always to nocturnias for her assistance, and a special shout out to allthebellsinvenice for helping me with some tricky medical terminology in one part as well.

The next week was so eventful, so emotionally and physically draining that Marian Tullia would later look back on it and marvel that she managed to survive it without permanent damage to her sanity. It made the days before she and Sherlock began their intimate relationship seem like a trip to the seaside villa her family owned.

The week started with Mariana Maxia finally going into labor. The call came in the middle of the night, an urgent pounding at the door which Lucius hurried to open before dashing off to awaken his mistress. The slave gasped out that Junius Hadrian’s wife had not only gone into labor (at last, thank the Gods!) but that she was already declaring her body’s need to push. Mariana Tullia barely had enough time to dress herself and gather the tools of her trade before she was rushing out the door with the Veturius slave as her guide and a sleepy-eyed Salonina Theodora at her side.

The babe – a fine, healthy girl with a headful of wispy blonde hair and very functional lungs – was born not an hour later. While Salonina cleaned her up and Mariana Tullia began the process of assisting Mariana Maxia in expelling the _chorion_ , she became concerned at the amount of blood coming from the other woman, and just like that a swift but successful birth became a taxing twenty-four hours where the mother’s life hung in the balance. 

Lucina smiled on them; the next night when Mariana and Salonina allowed themselves to be carried home via litter carried in the strong hands of four young slaves, they were able to report that both mother and child had survived the ordeal and were doing well. Mariana Maxia would be weak until her body created more blood, and she would have to be watched carefully, but she would live.

“They’ve name her Benedicta Flavia,” Mariana reported to an enrapt Marcia Faustina as she allowed the older woman to fuss over her.

“An auspicious name,” the Procuratrix said approvingly as she led Mariana to the bath she’d ordered drawn up. She smiled knowingly as Sherlock appeared, silently indicating that he would take care of their mistress since Salonina had already retired to her chambers, too exhausted even to take advantage of a bath for herself.

Mariana Tullia was also far too exhausted to take advantage of his presence, willingly and without having been summoned, except to allow him to pamper and pet her, to run soothing hands through her hair as he scrubbed away the sweat and small flecks of blood that had been unavoidable under the near-dire circumstances. She drowsily described the whole thing to Sherlock, who gave every appearance of being fascinated by a process he’d yet to witness first hand, and who professed relief that both mother and child had survived. “I presume you followed your usual custom of washing your hands thoroughly before beginning your work,” he said, with something of a question in his voice.

“You want to know why I do that?” Mariana asked, and he nodded. “My father had a vision when he first began his training as physician,” she said, voice warm with the memory of the day her father had shared the contents of that vision with her. “Venus appeared to him, rising from the waves and cradling a newborn infant in her arms. She spoke but one sentence, saying ‘The water is the key to life.’ From that day forward he always washed his hands before touching an infant, and when I began my training as his assistant and as a midwife, he insisted that it was the will of the goddess that I do the same. He also convinced Junius Hadrian to join in the practice when they became partners, and not just when delivering babies. Their patient survival rate seemed to improve, much to the envy of their colleagues.” Her face darkened a bit. “But very few of those other physicians put much stock in my father’s vision, and I’ve found it difficult to convince other midwives of the importance of bathing their hands before delivering babies.”

“Foolish of them,” Sherlock said, prompting Mariana to glance over her shoulder at him questioningly. He was seated behind her, having just finished washing her hair, and was now running soothing hands over her shoulders and neck, easing the stress and strain from her body as much as the warm waters of the bath. “I imagine there are properties in pure water that purge whatever gives rise to childbed fever. After all, we know that sickness often arises from filth and foul odors, so it stands to reason that removing every trace will help, even when you can’t yet see the contamination upon your hands.”

She nodded, impressed with his quick understanding but not surprised. Her lovely boy had the most piercing intelligence, which combined with his comely form and talented hands and dry, often dangerous wit, made her wonder how she’d ever survived this long without him in her life. Oh how she longed to tell him her feelings, how much she loved him and treasured him…

She stiffened, her breath catching in her throat, and Sherlock instantly felt the change in her posture. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, peering down at her in concern.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I just…I need to get to bed, Sherlock, else I’ll fall asleep here in the bath and you’ll have to carry me to my rooms.”

“Gladly,” he murmured, but she forced a laugh and moved away from his hands. Oh, by the Gods, what was wrong with her? How could she not have recognized when her passion for this man had turned to love?

And what was she going to do about it?

oOo

The answer to that question remained unresolved as the rest of Mariana’s week became a whirlwind of activity. As if the birth of Mariana Maxia’s daughter had been a signal to Lucina, four other women delivered their children as well, all of them healthy and with none of the complications that had plagued Junius’ wife, who slowly but surely began to regain her strength. Junius could not stop singing Mariana’s praises, much to her embarrassment, and even insisted that Sherlock hold the babe when he escorted his mistress there on one of her visits to check on her patient.

Seeing him awkwardly cradling the infant in his arms, gazing down at her with something akin to wonder in his eyes, made Mariana Tullia’s stomach flip-flop. She had to force herself to return her attention to Mariana Maxia, and not envision a future with Sherlock holding another babe in his arms, one with his eyes and her cinnamon-colored hair. He gave her a sharp look when they left the Veturius household, but thankfully held his tongue, keeping any deductions he might have wanted to make to himself. In fact, he continued to be on his best behavior throughout the remainder of the week, which should have warned her that a storm was about to break.

She returned home from a trip to the markets to purchase some of her badly depleted stocks. Sherlock was busy with Marcus Aegyptus, it was baking day, and Salonina Theodora’s day off, so she went escorted only by Vergilius Felix. The young lad had truly turned his life around after the day she purchased Sherlock; she’d seen him conscientiously poring over the lessons Sherlock had put together for him, learning to read and do his sums, and if he still occasionally frequented the brothels and wine bars that catered to men of his class, Mariana now turned a tolerant eye to such activities. What had once been verging on an obsession was now simply a normal part of the slave’s life, as it was for so many men, and his attitude and the performance of his duties were no longer anything for her to complain of or chastise him about.

He cheerfully went to the stables to take care of the donkey and cart as Lucius carried her purchases indoors. However, she turned in surprise as the front door flew open, slamming back against the wall as Salonina Theodora rushed into the house, her face a mask of rage, tears in her eyes. She said nothing to Mariana, acted as if she didn’t even see her mistress as she ran for her room, slamming that door open and then closed again.

Mariana stared after her, aghast; what had set the young maid into such a temper? As she turned to give Lucius a puzzled stare, however, she saw Marcus Aegyptus dashing into the house, stopping short at the sight of his sister. “Marcus? Would you care to explain what’s gotten my maid into such a bother?” Mariana asked him, knowing just by looking at him that he knew the answer – and that it was one she wouldn’t like.

And so it proved as he blurted out, “Sherlock said something to her, I didn’t hear it, but they argued and he made me go ahead and then Salonina Theodora passed me and she looked furious and I asked her where Sherlock was and she said he’s in the kitchens with Marcia Faustina and she said I should go study in the courtyard but I don’t want to study, Mariana, I want to know…”

She cut off the stream of excited words with a sharp shake of her head. “It is not your business, Marcus. Return to your studies, while I investigate.” Her expression softened as she met his unhappy gaze. “When you are older and more ready to take on the duties and responsibilities of being the head of this household, I promise you, nothing will be kept from you. But that day is still many years in the future, and right now your responsibility is to become a well-educated, dutiful Roman citizen and make our father and mother proud.”

She watched him head for the courtyard with dragging steps and bit back a sigh. Marcus’ education in how to be the proper head of a Roman household was something that would have to be addressed soon; she and Sherlock would have to map out ways to fit it into his other studies.

Sherlock. Gods above, how could she have forgotten, even temporarily, that the whole reason she’d sent Marcus away was so she could find out what Sherlock had done? With another sigh, Mariana headed for the kitchens.

oOo

The sight that greeted her upon her arrival was so unexpected that she stopped short in the doorway as she attempted to process it. Sherlock was sitting with his head tilted back, blood streaming from his nose while Marcia Faustina fussed over him with a wet cloth.

“Beg pardon, _Domina_ , but if you'll just give us a moment,” the older woman said with an apologetic smile as Mariana finally forced herself to walk over to the pair of them. She nodded acknowledgement of the older woman’s words, but gently took the cloth from her hand, eyes fixed on Sherlock. The Procuratrix bowed her head before hastening out of the kitchen, mumbling something about seeing to the herb garden.

When they were alone, Mariana's features softened, and she gently held the cloth to Sherlock's nose. “Sherlock? Did my maid punch you?” She bit her lip, trying to hold back an inappropriate giggle. Salonina and Sherlock had always had a contentious relationship, but for the younger woman to resort to physical violence, he must have truly outdone himself this time.

“All I did was tell her the truth,” he said sullenly, his voice gone rather nasally. “About her lover, that barber.”

“Phillipus Didius Annias?” Mariana asked, heart sinking. She'd warned that girl not to get herself entangled in a romance so young! “What truth did you tell her?”

“That he's never going to marry her, as he already has a wife, living in the country,” Sherlock replied, lower lip stuck out in a pout that Mariana tried very hard not to find adorable.

“And so she punched you?”

He started to shake his head, winced, and tilted his head back once more, holding the cloth firmly to his still-bleeding nose. “No,” he replied, the nasal quality of his voice only worsening. “She called me a liar, and I told her I could prove it.”

“How?” Mariana asked, fascinated in spite of herself. This was very nearly sinking to gossip, which she generally abhorred, but she really did want to know what scheme Sherlock had come up with, that ended up with him being punched by her personal maid!

“I told her to tell him she was pregnant,” he replied, “and to demand that he marry her. She had her doubts, but I managed to coax her into doing it...”

Mariana rolled her eyes. By ‘coaxed’ of course Sherlock meant ‘taunted’. But she remained silent, encouraging him to continue by merely raising an eyebrow.

He huffed but continued speaking. “So of course she came back in a fury, because he told her not only that he couldn't marry her because he already had a wife, but that he also had three children and no interest in becoming a father again. Then he offered her money to seek out an abortionist – he had the gall to suggest that YOU might do it for her – and after explaining all that, she punched me.” He sounded put out and bewildered at the same time as he met Mariana's gaze. “Why did she punch ME? All I did was tell her the truth!”

Mariana sighed and reached out to gently run her fingers through his hair, confident that they were alone – and that even if they weren't, none of the other servants or slaves would carry gossip about her actions to the market center. “Sherlock, sometimes people just don't want to hear the truth, especially if it's painful.”

“But wasn't it kinder for her to find out now, rather than after investing years in a relationship that might very well have ended up with her actually pregnant and cast aside?”

Mariana tilted her head consideringly. “Kinder to break her heart so bluntly as I imagine you did? No, not kinder, Sherlock. But at least now she knows the truth, and can perhaps set her sights on someone who might actually want a future with her.”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. “You have someone in mind, Mariana Tullia, don't deny it. Who?”

Eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth, Mariana gave in to the urge to tease him a bit. “What, the brilliant Sherlock of Angle's Land can't deduce it by himself?”

He rolled his eyes and stuck out his lower lip in a fuller pout; Mariana took pity on his fragile ego and said, “Gaius Flavius has been asking after her health every time he visits. And surely you don't think he continues to come round just for the sake of his aunt's cooking?” Reconsidering, she added, “Well, actually he does, of course, but you know what I mean.”

Sherlock once again made as if to shake his head, and once again winced and stopped the motion. “Why doesn't he simply express his interest to the lady in question, instead of mooning about waiting for her to notice him?”

Mariana's eyes met his, and a tender smile curved her lips. “Because, Sherlock, as you well know, sometimes people can be too afraid of getting what they want to truly pursue it.” Then she bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before adding, “Once you've stopped bleeding, come to my room. I think you need to be reminded how to keep your mouth shut.”

She left the room, content in knowing that she'd left a very chastened – and very aroused – slave behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chorion – Afterbirth  
> Lucina – Goddess of childbirth  
> Benedicta Flavia – Blessed One of the Yellow Hair


	13. Puniatur In Quo Deliquit (Let the Punishment Fit the Crime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only persons appearing in this chapter are Mariana (Molly) and Sherlock, with mentions of Salonina Theodora (Sally Donovan), so I will forego the usual list. :)
> 
> _Previously: Mariana's eyes met his, and a tender smile curved her lips. "Because, Sherlock, as you well know, sometimes people can be too afraid of getting what they want to truly pursue it." Then she bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before adding, "Once you've stopped bleeding, come to my room. I think you need to be reminded how to keep your mouth shut."_
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> _She left the room, content in knowing that she'd left a very chastened – and very aroused – slave behind her._

Sherlock tried to ignore the pounding of his heart as he stood in the hall outside Mariana Tullia’s private chambers, just as he tried to ignore the clamminess of his palms, the shallowness of his breathing and the sweat gathering on his forehead and the back of his neck. A thousand different scenarios flashed through his mind in the moments before he gathered the courage to knock on his _Domina’s_ chamber door: the flogger in her hands while he knelt adoringly at her feet; the manacles once more attached to the headboard as she worked him with her mouth; his hands trussed behind his back as he worked _her_ with _his_ mouth…the possibilities were almost literally endless. And if his Molly needed help with some of those ideas, he would be happy to share them with her.

He shivered a bit at that thought. Would he truly be happy, or was his normally well-ordered mind such a jumble that it simply chose the first random word to describe his potential feelings? He tilted his head to one side and considered the thought, a small smile crossing his lips as he decided that, yes, happy was, indeed, the correct word choice. Confidence returned to him as he finally raised his hand and rapped smartly on the wooden door.

“Enter,” Mariana called, her voice firm, and another delicious shiver ran over his form. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on the handle and entered.

Whatever he expected to see upon entry to her private chambers, it wasn’t his Molly sitting demurely on the window seat, fully clothed, her hair still pinned and curled to the top of her head. But when she spoke, his heart pounded in anticipation. “I’ve dismissed Salonina Theodora for the night, Sherlock. But how thoughtless of me to do so before undressing.”

A slow smile curved Sherlock’s lips as he bowed his head, hands clasped loosely in front of him.“Far be it from me to reprimand you, _Domina_ ,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “However, since I am already here, perhaps I could assist you this evening?”

He peeked up at her from beneath the fringe of curls that had tumbled over his forehead, remaining by the door as she rose gracefully from her seat and walked over to him. She reached up and brushed her fingers against the errant curls. “Time for another barbering, I think,” she murmured as she placed her hands on either side of his face. His eyes met hers, and he knew his were as dark with passion as her own.“But yes, for tonight, Sherlock, you may assist me.” Then she stepped back and turned away from him, just as he’d leaned forward to kiss her.

With an internal pout at her teasing, doing his best to ignore the tightening in his loins she’d provoked, Sherlock reached up and began undoing the various pins holding her hair in place, carefully setting them down on the small table next to the door. Undoubtedly Salonina did this in the dressing room, with her mistress seated on the stool in front of the polished bronze mirror, but Mariana made no move away from him, simply stood and waited for him to finish. Once her hair was loose, he gave into the urge to run his fingers through it, murmuring apologetically that he wished to be sure he’d left no pins in. The soft chestnut tresses ran through his fingers like the finest silk, and soon he gave into a second urge: to press his fingertips against her scalp, massaging lightly in order to soothe any headaches he might have induced with his earlier actions, however inadvertently.

His Molly gave a satisfied hum, tilting her head forward just the slightest bit to allow him better access. A third urge manifested as soon as he brushed her hair aside enough to see her bared neck: to press a kiss there, or a series of kisses, rather, and once again he submitted to the impulse, content in the knowledge that she would order him to desist if his attentions were in any way unwanted…and equally content knowing that such advances would be very, very welcome.

oOo

Mariana was enjoying Sherlock’s assiduous attentions very, very much, but now was not the time to allow him to continue taking the lead. She was fully conscious of her responsibilities as his _Domina_ , both inside and outside the bed chamber, and Eirene’s voice inside her head admonishing her to take firm control was a good reminder of those responsibilities. “Sherlock,” she said, keeping her voice firm but not sharp, “my clothing. Remove it.” Fighting down an impulse to smile, she added sweetly, “And then your own, of course.”

“As you command,” he murmured, sounding not at all put out by the faint reprimand in her voice. Indeed, his clever, nimble fingers made quick work of the fastenings of her dress, and he didn’t have to be told to fold the garments he removed, to place them on the chest at the foot of her bed or to lay her jewelry next to the hairpins he’d removed. The only thing she wouldn’t let him remove was the soft linen cloth wrapped low on her hips; she wanted to reveal her fully nude form to him herself, and brushed his hands away with a secretive smile.

He squinted up at her, clearly uncertain, but once she directed his attention to her sandal-clad feet, his brow cleared and he returned to the task to which she’d set him. He knelt at her feet and she allowed him to lift first one foot, then the other, removing her sandals as quickly and efficiently as he had her clothing, his hands showing no tendency to linger, which brought a slight frown to her lips. Until, of course, she saw the look of intense concentration on his face, how focused he was on doing as she had commanded him to do.

Once her sandals were removed and placed side by side, he pulled his tunic over his head, folding it neatly and placing his belt on top of it. He made equally quick work of his own sandals and then his loincloth, and Molly let out an appreciative sigh at the sight of his lovely penis, so thick and red and begging to be used. But not just yet; the sight of him kneeling at her feet had put some very intriguing ideas into her mind.

Sherlock made to rise, but Mariana placed her hand on his head, smiling down at him as he looked up and met her gaze. His eyes had darkened with lust, the blue-green of the irises barely showing, and his breathing had quickened. “As long as you’re down there,” she said, her voice a velvety purr she barely recognized as her own, “perhaps you’d like to show me exactly how sorry you are for your rudeness to my maid? Put that tongue of yours to better use, hmm?”

Slowly, almost shyly, she unwrapped the cloth from her hips. As she did so, Sherlock’s eyes darted toward her sex, which she’d recently had waxed. It wasn’t her usual practice, being one who disdained the belief that hair covering the genitals carried disease – if one was clean, then the insect infestations that beset many were easily avoided – but Eirene had suggested it to her and judging by Sherlock’s avid expression, that suggestion was having exactly the effect on him her unacknowledged sister had said it would.

oOo

Sherlock licked his lips as he took in the sight of his Molly’s bare _cunnus_ revealing the soft pink lips of her labia to his view. He knew what she wanted, and it was what he wanted, too; that first taste of her in the baths had whet his appetite, awoken a ferocious desire to taste her again, as often as she would let him. And now the sweet, musky scent was filling his nostrils as his _Domina_ reached down and threaded the fingers of one hand through his curls, gently urging his face forward. As he reached up, however, she tugged sharply, and he looked up at her. “No hands,” she said with a wicked grin. “Only your mouth, _dulcia_.”

A shudder went over his form, both from the command she’d given him, and from the tender endearment falling so caressingly from her lips. It was his signal that he could call her Molly, as he so loved to do, and he felt his face flushing red with pleasure, all the way to the tips of his ears. He obediently dropped his hands back to his sides, curling them into fists in order to remove the temptation to touch her with anything but his mouth, then leaned forward and nuzzled her lower lips open.

It was awkward, but so close to what he’d fantasized that he managed far better than anticipated; his tongue was soon lapping eagerly at her damp core, gliding up to tease her _clitoridis_ , daring to nip gently at it with his teeth. The sudden intake of her breath, the way her fingers clenched in his hair, and the most telling of all, the sudden gush of moisture between her legs, all told him that this was a very good idea, indeed.

He spared a moment to dart his eyes up to his Molly’s face, to gauge how close she was to reaching her climax, and smirked at the sight of her heavy-lidded eyes, her face flushed a rosy pink. Then she met his gaze, tightened her grip on his hair and slung one leg over his shoulder, unbalancing him a bit but opening up herself so that he had much more access to her vulva.

He steadied himself, grasping her leg with one hand; upon not having it slapped away, he renewed his attentions to his _Domina’s_ sweet _clitoridis_ , to the juicy flesh beneath, darting his tongue deep inside her and then back out again. If only he could use his hands, he’d press his thumb to the swollen little bud, make her squeal and buck against him…

Oh. She was doing that already, and he was more than pleased to allow her to ride his face to her completion. The way her fingers dug into his scalp was…extremely arousing; his penis felt hot and swollen, and the idea of feeling it surrounded by her inner muscles, so wet and slick, was the most enticing thought in the cosmos. The gods and goddesses he held no real belief in could descend from the heavens and declare their reality to him; his brother could arrive and ransom his freedom, and he wouldn’t hesitate a moment – if the choice was between burying himself in his Molly’s sweet _cunnus_ or leaving Rome forever, he knew which choice he’d make.

Molly. He would always pick Molly.

And when she pulled away from, her breathing ragged and face flushed, then reached under her bed and pulled out the flogger, he knew it was the right choice, and he was at peace with that decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _End of chapter notes:_
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> _cunnus – vulva/female genitalia_  
>  _Clitoridis – do I really have to translate? :P_  
>  _Dulcia – darling_


	14. Omnia Vos Umquam Voluerent (Everything You Ever Wanted)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only persons appearing in this chapter are Mariana (Molly) and Sherlock, so I will forego the usual list. :) The usual thanks to nocturnias for inspiring this story, and to my readers/followers/reviewers for sticking with it. There are only a few more chapters left to go. And this is very much an M chapter with a warning for consensual flogging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: The gods and goddesses he held no real belief in could descend from the heavens and declare their reality to him; his brother could arrive and ransom his freedom to him in this moment, and he wouldn't hesitate – if the choice was between burying himself in his Molly's sweet cunnus or leaving Rome forever, he knew which choice he'd make._
> 
> _Molly. He would always pick Molly._
> 
> _And when she pulled away from, her breathing ragged and face flushed, then reached under her bed and pulled out the flogger, he knew it was the right choice, and he was at peace with that decision._

She hadn’t had a specific plan in mind for either punishing or pleasuring him when she’d ordered him to her chambers; everything she’d allowed to happen so far this evening had been entirely spur-of-the-moment, a bit out of control in spite of his instant obedience to her every command. But once she held the flogger in her hands, gripping its simple black handle, admiring the vibrant blue tails and the tightly knotted points at the end – knowing that it had been used exclusively on the man still kneeling on the floor at her feet – she felt the rapid knocking of her heart slow, as a calm certainty fell over her. “Place your hands on your knees, Sherlock,” she said, her voice even, no trace of the devastating orgasm he’d given her affecting her any longer.

She’d never been able to rid her mind of the image that had embedded itself there on a long-ago night, the first time she’d pleasured herself with the thought of Sherlock thoroughly under her control. She’d seen it so clearly: herself, holding the ceremonial flogger and standing over Sherlock’s naked form as he knelt before her. In that image as in the current reality, his head was bowed submissively as she caressed his shoulders and lovely, toned backside with the weapon’s blue-dyed leather points. She allowed the tails to drag over his shoulders, and smiled complacently as a shudder went over his body. She would have made oath to any God anyone demanded of her that his engorged penis twitched and thickened further at the sensations. Certainly her _cunnus_ had flooded yet again with moisture, and she felt another wave of serene surety flow over her body at the knowledge that soon the two of them would be joined together, the last barrier between them torn down and mutual pleasure found in one another’s bodies.

But first, the moment they’d both been waiting for ever since that first kiss, practically from the moment they first met, Mariana thought fancifully. “You continue to be a troublesome _servus_ , Sherlock.”

He bowed his head, but she saw a satisfied smile curve his lips as he gazed down at his clasped hands. They rested on his knees, as she’d instructed, and his fingers tightened as if in anticipation of her next words. “I do indeed, _Domina_ ,” he replied. “I don’t mean to be.”

She knew those words to be the truth. Unlike the truculent, violently unhappy boy he’d been when he first arrived on Rome’s shores, he’d found a sort of peace, had settled into his role as tutor and slave; not so much resignation, Mariana believed, but a true peace of mind. And it had all begun when she began to properly assert herself over him. He was an unruly, impatient soul and no doubt always would be; his keen intelligence caused him so much restlessness of spirit, but somehow the two of them had discovered a way for that restless spirit to be calmed, eased. Her control over him in these intimate moments gave joy to them both.

She would not let him down.

Keeping her responsibilities toward him firmly in mind, she flicked the ends of the flogger over his back, not hard enough to sting, not yet, but hard enough for him to notice. “Sherlock, you need to rein in your thoughtless tongue,” she admonished him. “Save its edge for softer exercises.” She deliberately stopped in front of him, gliding her hand down her body to caress her exposed sex, following the same path his mouth had taken only moments earlier. His eyes tracked every move of her fingers, and she watched complacently as the tip of his tongue darted out to touch his lips, still shiny with tracings of her feminine fluids.

She slipped her fingers between her dewy folds, and watched the dark pupils expand and swallow almost all of the ocean-colored irises in his eyes. His breathing, already ragged, hitched, and he swallowed, hard. His fingers clenched on his thighs, and in spite of her interest in seeing if she could bring herself to completion while he watched, instead she languidly removed her fingers, bringing them up to her own lips and sucking the wetness while Sherlock stared and twitched and clearly had to fight to keep himself from launching to his feet and dragging her body under his.

“Not yet,” she murmured, moving back around him, being sure to continue dragging the knotted tips of the flogger against his shivering flesh. Goosebumps broke out across his arms even as sweat beaded on his brow; he was in a fever of anticipation, just as Eirene had predicted, and now, now was the time to give him what they both wanted.

oOo

Thwack! The tails came down, hard, on the naked flesh of his back, and Sherlock moaned, his eyes snapping shut at the sensation. As before, Molly took care not to break the skin; good. Neither of them would enjoy themselves if his back was a bloody mess. She also took care to administer the lashes with a lighter hand than she had when she’d punished him, although she kept to the same pattern, ensuring full coverage of his back and shoulders.

A single lash landed on his buttocks, and he let out an involuntary whimper of pleasure-pain, feeling his cock spasm a bit, a few hot drops of semen splashing on his thigh. Without having to be told to do so, he moved so that he was on his hands and knees, silently offering himself up to her, giving permission for her to flog more than just his back. He would have difficulty sitting and walking for a while, but it would be more than worth it.

Another lash landed on his buttocks, the offering he’d made to her accepted, and he allowed another moan of pleasure to escape his lips. A third lash, then a forth, and suddenly he was crying out her name and a series of jumbled words in multiple languages spilled from his lips as his seed spilled from his body. Head hanging, breaths coming in sharp pants, he watched in disbelief as hot spatters of milky white ejaculate spattered the tile floor.

“Apologies, _Domina_ ,” he croaked, dimly noting that his Molly had knelt next to him, was running soothing fingers through his sweat-matted curls as he tried to get his galloping heart and panting breaths back under control. He raised one hand and weakly gestured at the floor. “For the mess. I’ll clean it up.” But when he made to rise, her fingers twisted in to his hair, holding him in place.

He looked up at her finally, to see wide brown eyes gazing at him in understanding and – his heart clenched – something akin to love. “It can wait, _dulcia_ ,” she murmured, her fingers easing again, returning to soothing strokes against his scalp. “Come. You need to recover.” She urged him to rise, supporting his staggering, reeling weight with her slighter form, while he dazedly murmured protests and apologies. He had been unprepared for the intensity of his own reactions, had thought he’d understood what would happen once he gave himself over to his desires, but he’d miscalculated. Thank the Gods his Molly was here to see to him, to take him tenderly in her arms as she helped him to curl up on her bed. He felt the warmth of the coverlets as she tucked them around him, and held her close as she lay next to him, his head resting on her bosom, barely registering the fact that tears were flowing from his eyes to dampen her soft flesh.

Within minutes his eyelids fluttered shut, and he was fast asleep.

oOo

Mariana gazed down in Sherlock in wonder as his breathing evened out and his body relaxed against hers. Eirene had warned that the intensity of the experience of getting what he so desperately wanted from her might have this effect on him, but hearing about it and seeing it were two very different things. Once she was certain he was fully asleep, she eased herself from his embrace, loath though she was to do so. However, the weals and bruises from the flogger needed to be tended to, lest he end up with more damage than either of them wished him to suffer through.

He rolled onto his stomach with a murmur as she left the bed, wrapping a soft robe around her body as she padded barefoot across the tile floor on the way to her dressing room. On the counter lay a flagon of wine, some soft cloths, and a bowl of honey, everything needed to care for her lover’s injuries. Injuries she, Mariana Tullia Hortensius, had inflicted. For a moment she felt dizzy, almost frightened; what kind of a person was she, that she’d enjoyed every moment of pain she’d caused Sherlock? Then she remembered the utter adoration with which he’d cried out her name as his semen had spurted from his body, the way he’d rearranged himself in order for her to better reach him, and the feeling passed. Nothing she’d done had been unwelcome; it was what he’d wanted, needed, craved, and she would do it again in a heartbeat – as long as he continued to need her dominance, he would have it.

Easier in her mind and spirit, she carried her medicaments to her bedside, settling them gently on the low table near the head, and sat down close to Sherlock’s sleeping form, admiring the lean lines of his body at rest. Even the bruises starting to show on his shoulders and backside had a certain beauty to them, she mused, carefully dipping a cloth in wine. She wrung it out, then laid it gently on his back. He twitched slightly, mumbling something in what sounding like Gallic, but did not awaken.

She continued to soothe his aches as he slumbered, his face so peaceful in sleep she couldn’t resist the urge to place a soft kiss on the end of his nose. He twitched it and gave a small, contented sigh and Mariana felt as if her heart would burst from the sheer happiness she felt at the trust he’d shown her this night.

She turned her attention to his poor welt-crossed buttocks, biting her lip as she saw the damage she’d inflicted, the redness of his flesh, the stripes she’d laid there, and remorse and doubt hit her like a dash of cold water. Could this truly be what he wanted, her beautiful, clever slave? Was he simply doing what he thought she wanted, pretending to enjoy this in order to feed her own selfish needs?

Although she was as gentle as she could when she laid the wine-soaked cloths across his bottom, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, and accidentally scraped a nail across one of the raised welts. He hissed a little, his body twitching, then turned his head and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, offering a shaky smile in apology. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but your injuries…”

His expression turned to one of faint alarm as he levered himself up from the bed despite her exclamations of protest. Kneeling in front of her, he reached out and clasped both of her hands in his, not seeming to notice that she was still clutching a damp piece of cloth. He examined her face searchingly, anxiously. “Please, _Domina_ , don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind, that you won’t do this for me again!” he begged, his fingers tightening on hers.

She searched his face as carefully as he had hers, looking for any signs that he didn’t mean what he was saying. She’d never seen him so vulnerable, so raw and open, his eyes wide and his lips turned down unhappily. Gently she extricated one hand from his clutching fingers, tracing the curve of his brow, the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the point of his chin. His eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled as she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. “No, _dulcia_ , I promise. If this is truly what you want – what you need from me – then you shall have it.” She steeled herself to continue, even though all she wanted to do was cradle him close as she saw the relief flooding his features. “And if this is all you need from me, I want you to know that I’ll never ask more of you.”

oOo

Sherlock stared at Mariana, his Molly, his _Domina_ , his – dare he think it? – yes, he would, his _amica_. He understood quite clearly what she was saying; if he was content to leave things as they stood, to remain _virgo intacto_ , to never penetrate her sweet body… “No,” he burst out, reaching up to grip the back of her head, ignoring the sweet ache in his body at every movement. “No,” he repeated softly, cradling her face in his hands before leaning closer to rest his forehead against hers, his eyes tightly shut. “No, _amica mea_ , that’s not what I want. I mean, it is, but it’s only part of what I want, what I need.”

“And what do you need, Sherlock?” she asked softly, the sweet voice he adored so much shaking the slightest bit. He felt dampness from the tears now leaking from the corners of her eyes and tenderly wiped them away with his thumbs.

“You,” he replied, his voice just as soft, just as tender – and also shaking just the slightest bit. “Always you, my Molly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter notes:
> 
> Cunnus – I hope it’s obvious  
> Servus – Servant/slave  
> Amica mea – my love  
> Dulcia – Darling  
> Virgo intacto – virgin


	15. Ardens in Igne Complementum (Burning in the Fires of Completion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovemaking, pure and simple. Some anal play, but otherwise it's pretty vanilla in this chapter because I was feeling the need for something very fluffy after all the heavy flogging stuff in the previous chapter.

Mariana allowed Sherlock to lower her to the bed, taking care to leave her hands only loosely draped over his shoulders. He eased his body over hers, resting one leg between her thighs, and she was surprised – and pleased – to feel how hard he’d become. The hot length of his erection against her sex brought an answering wave of warmth over her body, spreading upward to her chest and throat and flushing her cheeks with heat. He slid against her, and the heat translated to wetness at the apex of legs and body, and she shuddered with purest want.

“ _Domina, dulcia_ , my Molly,” Sherlock breathed as he lowered his head and placed a series of soft, precise kisses along the column of her throat. “Let me please you, let us finally be joined as man and woman. Let me feel your sweet warmth sheathing me, please say you’ll be mine, my Molly, _amica mea_.”

His pleading words held the reverence of a vow, and Molly realized that was exactly what it was. The two of them could never live as husband and wife, even if he were freed this very minute, but with these words he was pledging himself to her, body, heart and soul.

And she could do no less than he. “Yes,” she whispered, gliding her fingers up the back of his neck, tangling them in his dark curls in a manner that made him moan and press himself closer to her.

He paused as if waiting for her to give him a command, but as she looked into his eyes she saw a question – and gave a tiny nod of encouragement. He’d given so much to her, so much of himself, that she gladly ceded control of this moment to him. He responded by burying his face against her neck, pressing fervent kisses to the warm flesh there, while his hands roamed her body, front and back. She felt one finger run lightly between the cheeks of her buttocks, and flushed red at the thought of him exploring her there as well as planting himself deep in her _cunnus_. “Anywhere, Sherlock, _dulcia_ ,” she murmured encouragingly, gliding her own hands down his sides and along his hips, carefully avoiding the bruises she’d inflicted on him.

He pulled himself up, just enough to stare down at her, eyes wild, hair disheveled. She smiled, then gasped as he roughly pulled her over onto her stomach, grasping her wrists in his hands and pulling her arms up so that they rested on either side of her head. “Like this, _amica_?” he whispered against her ear, nipping lightly at the pierced lobe. “Like a Thracian pirate taking a prize captive?” He rutted against her bottom, not so gently this time, then moved his mouth to her throat, biting down and sucking hard enough to leave a mark – but in a place that her normal hairstyle and clothing would easily cover, she noted distractedly.

And when, she wondered as he reached around to squeeze her breasts, had he deduced her weakness for epic poetry about Thracian pirates falling in love with their Roman captives? Or had he simply browsed through her scrolls…oh, she would have words with him about that if he had! – but later. For now she simply enjoyed his playfully rough handling of her, the way he ignored the pain he surely must be enduring, all to bring her pleasure. To serve her needs, under the guise of taking control, she realized with a pang. Oh, how she loved him, her young barbarian; how had she lived so long not realizing the sweet agony of such tender feelings?

“Sherlock, please,” she moaned as he used his legs to push her thighs aside. His _mentula_ felt so hot as it once again slid between the seeping lips of her _cunnus_ , so slick and ready for him to fill her. She felt she would be utterly consumed by her longing for him if he didn’t enter her now.

“Please what, _dulcia_?” he growled, nipping once more at her ear. He gave a sharp thrust of his hips and she gasped as his _mentula_ rubbed against her _clitoridis_ , sending prickles of pleasure all through her body.

“ _Futuo_ me,” she whispered, widening her legs invitingly. “Make me yours.”

“You’re already mine,” he replied, rubbing the head of his _mentula_ between her lower lips. “Just as I…” he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck, “…am yours.” With those words he started to ease his way inside her, stopping his movements when he encountered the expected barrier. She tensed beneath him, then forced herself to relax her body, knowing that it would be much less painful for her if she did. “All right?” he whispered, and she nodded.

His hands gripped her wrists as he pulled his hips up and away from her body, moving with a little more force now as he sought to sheathe himself inside her willing form. One, two, three solid thrusts and suddenly he was inside her, filling her, the slight burn as her hymen gave way only marginally uncomfortable, as Eirene had promised it could be. “The first time doesn’t have to be about pain and blood,” she’d counseled her. “Not if your body is ready and your lover properly attentive.”

 _Well_ , Mariana thought distractedly as Sherlock stilled once again, his mouth pressed against her shoulder, _no one can say Sherlock isn’t properly attentive!_

As soon as she’d become accustomed to the feel of his body so intimately locked with her own, she wiggled her hips to encourage him to move again, smiling against the bedding as he began to thrust against her with a great deal of enthusiasm. She’d already gained so much pleasure from him tonight that she wasn’t overly concerned with whether or not he lasted long enough to bring her to another orgasm.

However, as always, Sherlock never failed to astonish her; one hand squirmed between her sex and the bedding, his thumb ghosting over her _clitoridis_ , rubbing soft circles against the swollen flesh while his other hand somehow managed to find its way to her right breast. His fingers pinched the nipple into almost painful erectness, while his mouth continued to work the most sensitive areas of her neck and shoulder until the rising tide of pleasure once again washed over her. She cried out in equal amounts of pleasure and wonder, and heard him give his own pleasured groan only moments later. She could feel the heat of his ejaculate as he pulsed inside her, his hands tightening their grip on her fevered body before pulling free, coming to rest on top of her own hands, still resting on either side of her head.

Well, perhaps ‘resting’ wasn’t exactly the right term; her fingers were clenched tightly in the soft fabric of one pillow, and she had to ease them loose slowly for fear of cramping. Sherlock’s large hands engulfed them, and she felt his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against her knuckles as she cautiously stretched and wiggled her fingers.

Sherlock pulled himself out of her and moved gingerly to lie on his stomach next to her as she rolled on her side. She felt suddenly shy; even though they’d been so intimate this evening, she was uncertain what to do next. Should she order him from her bed, hold him close as she longed to do, go about her normal evening’s activities? It was the one thing she’d failed to talk over with Eirene, but she couldn’t fault her half-sister for that; Eirene’s advice was entirely for the sexual side, and it was up to Mariana to decide how to proceed now that she and Sherlock had finally consummated their passion for one another – and, she realized with a mental start, as much as confessed their love for one another. Unless, of course, Sherlock’s tender words had been solely due to his physical satisfaction…

“Mariana, _amica mea_ , you are thinking far too loudly.” The object of her scrambling thoughts was brushing her hair away from her face, and there was a fond smile on his face as he propped himself up on one elbow and regarded her. “I rarely say things I don’t mean, no matter what the circumstances.” Taking a deep breath, reaching out to interlace his fingers through hers, capturing her gaze with his, he said, “I love you, my Molly. No matter what the future holds for us, please don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too, _dulcia_ ,” Mariana whispered with a soft smile. She lay back on the pillows, opening her arms, and Sherlock willingly nestled into her embrace. 

They fell asleep that way, only to awaken within a few short hours, Mariana first and then Sherlock, sharing a series of slow, languorous kisses that swiftly turned passionate. Their lovemaking was tender and slow this time, as they explored the secrets of each other’s bodies; Mariana discovered that Sherlock’s feet were incredibly ticklish and he learned that when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nipped at it she moaned like a wanton harlot. The next discovery involved fingers; when Mariana sucked the tip of one of Sherlock’s fingers into his mouth he gasped as if she’d set him on fire. When she met his gaze she could see him begging with his eyes for her mouth to move from his hand to a location somewhat further south on his body, but made him literally beg before finally slipping down to draw the hooded top of his _mentula_ between her lips.

It took her a few blissful moments to remember that lying on his back might not be the best thing for him at the moment, but as soon as she did she withdrew her lips, earning a whimper of protest that went straight to her feminine core. “On your knees, _servus_ ,” she said in her haughtiest tones as she lolled back against the pillows strewn along the wooden headboard. “If your _Domina_ chooses to bring you pleasure with her mouth, she should not be the one doing all the work. Should she.”

The last was not spoken as a question, but Sherlock responded eagerly nonetheless. “No, _Domina_ , it is I who should be working to bring you pleasure,” he said, speaking in a rush as he eased himself onto his side and from there to his knees. He crawled forward, pausing between her lewdly opened legs, brushing his fingers over her nude sex as he lowered his eyes and humbly begged to be allowed to taste her first.

Oh, it was so tempting to tell him yes, to let him lower himself between her legs and slip that wicked tongue of his into her _cunnus_ again, but the unconscious wince he gave when he started to lower himself again, the slow, careful way he’d rolled onto his side, all told her that now was not the time. “Do as your _Domina_ commands,” she said, her voice steely, and smiled to herself as she saw his eyes widen and lips curl in an eager smile. 

He straddled her lounging form, his large, pleasingly-shaped _mentula_ dangling before her lips, and lazily urged him forward so that his hands were grasping the curved top of the cedar headboard. She leaned forward and brought him between her lips again, gently caressing the fronts of his thighs, moving her hands ever upward until she cupped his scrotum, exploring it with her fingers while her tongue and lips explored the hard length jutting above. She made a mental note to ask him to consider waxing himself for her at some future point, so that both their bodies were smooth and hairless, then concentrated on bringing him to the cusp of orgasm, teasing his frenulum with one finger, running her free hand up his torso to tweak his nipples and smiling at the gasp her movements evoked.

oOo

She was a daemon in female form, sent here just to torment him, was Sherlock’s frenzied thought as he fought to keep his body still above hers. He flexed his knees and Mariana swallowed his aching _mentula_ deeper into her mouth, moving her head forward and back until he could no longer hold back his groans and words of praise. “Oh, my Molly, by Cupid and Venus, your mouth, I could write sonnets about your mouth, read them out in the Forum for everyone to hear, sing your praises on the temple steps and…aaahhhh!” His words stumbled and ceased and all he could do was cry out as the finger that had been teasing his frenulum pressed against his _culus_ , slipping inside and pulling back out again in imitation of what he very much wanted to be doing to her right now…except what she was doing to him was so wonderful, so pleasing, that his conflicted mind had no idea what it wanted. Did he want her to finish him with her mouth, to swallow down his ejaculate as she had before? Or did he want to come inside her sweet _cunnus_ , while she writhed beneath him and made those breathless noises of want that went straight to his groin?

While he wrestled with his conflicting desires, Mariana seemed to understand; she pulled her mouth away and gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he panted above her. “You’ve been very obedient, my sweet _servus, dulcia, amica mea_ ,” she murmured, resting her hands on his thighs. “Will you not join me, press your body to mine and let me kiss those sweet lips I love so much?”

He needed no further invitation, scrambling back down, ignoring the ache in his back and posterior as he lay his eager body over hers. They were face to face this time, her breasts pressing into his chest, his _mentula_ sliding against her _cunnus_ , already slick with arousal. Still, he was determined to enter her only after she’d been properly prepared; Eirene had been very stern when she’d warned him never to assume a lover to be ready to receive him. “Always test with your mouth and fingers first,” had been her advice…no, not advice, her command. “It will be far more pleasurable for you both that way, believe me.”

And believe her he did. Certainly his Molly appreciated those words of wisdom, even if she had never actually heard them; she gave a soft mewling sound as he rubbed one finger between her folds, being sure to press against her _clitoridis_ as he did so. Their lips met and clung together for a heated kiss and he felt the results of his ministrations, sticky moisture flooding between her legs and clinging to his fingers. “Are you recovered from before, _Domina_?” he asked tenderly when the kiss ended.

“Yes, _dulcia_ ,” she replied, stroking his cheek before tangling her fingers in his disordered curls. “Enter me, I want to feel you inside me again.”

He needed no further encouragement, removing his fingers only to stroke them over his straining erection, setting it into place and slowly easing inside her. There had been very little blood from their first coupling, and Mariana had assured him that it was more of a sweet burn than actual pain, but he had no desire to cause her even that little discomfort if he could avoid it. He enjoyed receiving pain when it was at her hands, true, but he had no interest in inflicting it upon her tender flesh.

Judging by the way she gasped and moaned as he seated himself fully inside her, by the way she said his name so breathlessly he thought he might orgasm just from that sound alone, he was successful in his mission to bring her nothing but pleasure this time.

They moved together so beautifully it brought tears to the corners of his eyes, and he wasn’t surprised at all to see her own brown eyes brimming with equal emotion. As he felt her body clenching around him, the sure sign that she was as close to orgasm as he was, he brought his mouth down to hers for another kiss, swallowing her soft cries of ecstasy as he emptied himself into her. They parted only for him to fetch a soft cloth, dampening it in the bowl of wine she’d so thoughtfully provided to care for his minor injuries, cleaned them both and then lay with his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat until they both once again rested safe in the arms of Morpheus.

oOo

In the early pre-dawn hours Mariana awoke at the feel of Sherlock’s lips on her forehead. “Sorry to awake you, _Domina_ ,” he murmured as she reached up sleepily to take his hands in hers. He kissed each one in turn, pressing soft lips to her knuckles before adding, “It would be best I think if I were to return to my room now.”

She nodded reluctant permission for him to leave her side, their fingers remaining entwined until he’d finally moved far enough away that they had to let one another go. She hated the fact that he was leaving her, but knew it was for the best. No matter how loyal her slaves and servants might be, no matter what they might suspect of the relationship between mistress and tutor, to find Sherlock in her bed would be impossible for any of them to ignore, and with the tension between him and Salonina Theodora, there was no point in taking any chances. So with a heavy heart she watched as he slipped through the door. 

She couldn’t return to sleep after that, so she rose and lit the small lamp from the brazier of banked coals kept on hand for just such use. When she went to place her jewelry and hairpins in their proper places, however, she discovered that Sherlock had done more than simply re-dress himself while she slept; everything had been neatly put in place, the blindfold and flogger placed back under her bed, and even the floor had been wiped down where he’d spent his seed after she’d flogged him.

She blushed at the memory; would she ever be able to think about that moment without feeling a hot flush of pleasure mingled with a furtive sense of self-shame? Perhaps someday. But not today, and she was relieved that it was too early for Salonina Theodora to come to her room to prepare her for the day ahead. She put on a soft robe and sat at her dressing table, running a comb through her hair and smiling dreamily to herself as she basked in the night’s memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Futuo – Fuck  
> Cunnus – Vulva  
> Mentula – Penis  
> Culus – Asshole (the body part not the insult)  
> Mea Amica – My love  
> Dulcia – Darling  
> Clitoridis – Three guesses (and the first two don’t count!)  
> Fun fact: “Me” is “Me” in Latin. Who knew? (Not “Me”!)


	16. Suspendisse ut eorum dicunt (Everybody Has Their Say)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> John Watson – Junius Hadrian Veturius (former army doctor whose life was once saved by a young Brittonic scholar/soldier named Sherlock)
> 
> Mary Watson – Mariana Maxia Veturius (wife to Junius, mother of their daughter Benedicta Flavia)
> 
> Molly Hooper – Mariana Tullia Hortensius (midwife and reluctant guardian to her troublesome younger brother)
> 
> Molly's sisters – Flavia Lucretia and Juliana Justinia
> 
> Molly's not-so-troublesome-these-days younger brother – Marcus Aegyptius Hortensius
> 
> Greg Lestrade – Gaius Flavius Lartius (head of the local Vigiles who has brought a certain troublesome younger brother back home after getting into mischief on more than one occasion, also Marcia Faustina’s cousin and slightly enamored of…)
> 
> Sally Donovan – Salonina Theodora Dossenius (personal maid to Mariana Tullia, no longer being wooed by a local barber since she kicked him to the curb after discovering he was married)
> 
> Phillip Anderson – Phillipus Didius Annius (local barber no longer wooing Mariana Tullia’s personal maid)
> 
> Martha Hudson – Marcia Faustina Hosidius (head female servant – Procuratrix – in the Hortensius household)
> 
> Sherlock Holmes – Sherlock (Briton, Roman slave, FINALLY Mariana Tullia’s lover)
> 
> Anyone else is an OC for whom you are welcome to imagine any backstory you wish!

On his way back to his small room – small, but his own, a luxury he could finally appreciate considering that slaves in other households often had to sleep wherever they could find to lay their heads at night – Sherlock allowed his mind to drift over the night’s activities. His lips curled in a content smile as he relived the events that led him to such internal happiness – and such external tenderness. Perhaps he would take a detour to the baths instead of his bed; he wasn’t likely to sleep again, not after having slumbered in his _Domina’s_ arms. He rotated his arm at the shoulder, wincing a bit as one of the bruises Molly had gifted him with made its presence known.

“Rough night?”

He froze, then turned to stare at the speaker as he lowered his arm. Salonina Theodora stood in the doorway to her room, a space not much larger than his own but more than adequate to her needs since she was also allowed the use of her mistresses’ much larger quarters. “No rougher than any other,” Sherlock finally replied, turning his head and making as if to continue on his way. By the Gods, why was the woman up so early? Oh, right, to see to her mistress, he’d obviously cut his leave-taking far too close, he’d have to be more careful in future… 

Salonina Theodora broke into his thoughts in a most disconcerting manner. “Listen, you barbarian, if you break her heart, I swear by Jupiter and Mars, I’ll do more than just bloody your nose, got it?”

Sherlock lifted his head, tilting his nose in the air as he did his best to minimize the potential damage his early-morning sloth might have caused by blustering, “I have no idea what you’re…”

Salonina Theodora moved like lightning when she wanted to, which was why he was suddenly blinking down at her as she glared up at him from only inches away. As usual she was unintimidated by his superior height; she poked a finger into his chest, causing him to take a single step backwards at the unexpected contact. “Stuff it,” she said rudely. “You and Mariana Tullia have finally done what everyone in this household has been placing bets on since she bought you, and it’s about bloody time. But if you ever, and I mean EVER, forget your place and make her regret taking you into her bed – and,” she interrupted herself with a smirk to add, “under her whip, then you will have the rest of us to deal with. Including Marcia Faustina.”

Those last words were delivered with a dark promise to them that Sherlock had no need to deduce; he’d seen the Procuratrix’s temper on more than one occasion and had no desire to bring her wrath down upon his own head. “Mariana Tullia will suffer no regrets from anything the two of us might or might not decide to do in private,” was all he said, his voice as stiff as his gait as he turned and stalked away from Salonina.

“Do you give your word?”

The quiet words stopped him again; this time he turned to face her squarely, meeting her gaze and feeling a sort of dark satisfaction when she was the one who took a step backwards. “There is no need for me to give it to you _Sally_ , when I’ve already given it to my _Domina_.” Ignoring her outraged demands that he call her by her proper name, he continued toward the baths. He needed that hot soak more than ever.

Especially if, as he suspected, he was going to face multiple variations of this conversation throughout the day.

oOo

As predicted, nearly every member of the Hortensius household – excepting Marcus Aegyptus, who thankfully seemed entirely unaware of the conversations being held in whispers and winks above his head – found some excuse to take him aside during the day and either warn him about doing harm to their mistress, congratulate him on having earned her trust, or slyly ask for details about their night-time activities.

Thankfully none of the household staff, slave or freedman, had any loyalties to either of Mariana’s elder sisters, else this general knowledge of what was meant to be kept secret might have darker implications for the two of them. And surprisingly enough, no one seemed intent on making Mariana Tullia aware of their knowledge; she went serenely through her day, with no sly whispers or innuendos soiling her ears or despoiling her peace. 

He would tell her, of course; it was important that there be no unnecessary secrets between them, and he had the vague idea that she would be pleased at her household’s loyalty to her and her brother – and their acceptance of the change in status quo.

He performed his usual duties as Marcus Aegyptus’ tutor, allowed the boy and Barbarossa a long romp in the afternoon, then headed out to assist Gaius Flavius Lartius in tracking down a thief at a wine shop. The two men had wrestled the culprit to the ground when he’d tried to run, and the grateful shop owner insisted on sharing his best vintage – although none of the swill he served deserved so grand a title – before sending them on their way. Since the prisoner had been carried back to the Vigiles headquarters by two of Gauis’ men, he and Sherlock accepted the offer, taking two seats in the inner courtyard and in all ways seeming two equals, a feeling Sherlock was just now realizing he’d always had around the captain.

“You seem in a pensive mood,” Gaius remarked after downing a third of his wine in two hearty gulps. “Is it because you’ve finally gotten into your lady’s good graces?” The smirk on his lips told Sherlock exactly how the older man intended his words to be taken, and he scowled in response, causing Gaius to laugh. “Now, son, don’t worry, no one’s carrying tales. I saw your lady earlier, when she was tending to one of my men’s wives – the one who’s about ready to pop, not that you’ll remember which one that is…”

“Flavia Victrix,” he said promptly, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Married to that idiot Atticus…”

“Yes, right, good,” Gaius grunted, his good humor not one whit disturbed. “Anyway, saw her, said hello, and she seemed, hmm, how should I put this?” He rubbed his hand across his chin, adopting an attitude of deep study that didn’t fool Sherlock even for a moment. “Ah!” Gaius leaned forward, resting his arm on the table as he met Sherlock’s gaze with an even wider smirk. “Well serviced.”

The punch was wild, and clearly the older man was expecting it, for he dodged it easily and quickly had Sherlock in an arm-lock, face-down on the table and the few other customers watching with bright-eyed interest. Gaius ignored them all, leaning his head down so that this words could be heard by Sherlock alone. “Right. Good reaction, defending your lady’s honor. Just see that you keep treating her with that amount of respect, my lad, and you’ll never find yourself in my bad graces. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sherlock grunted, giving the Vigiles captain a sour look as he straightened himself and retook his seat. “You could have simply threatened to cut off my bollocks if I hurt her,” he grumbled, causing Gaius to laugh again as he drained his beaker of wine.

“Consider the threat delivered,” he said, stretching and looking around at the disappointed faces of their sparse audience. “Nothing to see here,” he growled, and everyone went back to their own drinks and conversations. “Now,” Gaius said, glancing down at Sherlock, who was still scowling at his ill-treatment, “come along, time to get you back home. Don’t want anyone to think you’re taking advantage.”

Sherlock glowered and Gaius retained his smirk until they parted ways at the Vigiles station. “Oh, here’s some gossip you might not have heard,” Sherlock said, as if he’d just remembered. “Salonina Theodora and her barber have permanently parted ways. Too bad there’s no one at the moment inclined to put in a good word for you.” Then he sauntered off, deliberately ignoring the curses being hurled at his head by the disgruntled lawman. 

Not five minutes from the Hortensius house he was met by a scowling Junius Hadrian Veturius. “My house, now,” he barked, and Sherlock refrained from rolling his eyes only because he knew it would upset his Molly to show such contempt for her father’s former partner. Junius had turned on his heels as if expecting Sherlock to fall in behind him, and after a moment’s internal debate – mostly envisioning Mariana Tullia’s anger at him if he didn’t do as he’d been told – he did just that, following along in the older man’s wake.

Once they were past the Veturius doorman and inside John’s patient room, he shut the door firmly and locked it, then crossed his arms and once again turned his scowl on Sherlock. “My wife has just returned from visiting your Procuratrix, and she had some news to share with me. Some very…”

“Exciting news?” Sherlock broke in even though he was positive that wasn’t the word Junius would have chosen.

Sure enough, Junius’ scowl deepened. “No, Sherlock. Not ‘exciting’ news, exciting is definitely _not_ the word I’d use.”

“Something…not good?” Sherlock couldn’t resist; he knew what this was about, of course he did, but playing the wide-eyed innocent in front of the physician was too much fun to resist, even if he suspected he was about to take a beating for his prior nights’ actions if not for his current attitude.

Instead of hauling him up by the front of his tunic and shaking him until his teeth rattled, however, all Junius did was sigh and slump a bit from his position near the door. “Your Procuratrix was apparently very happy about the mood of the household, how it had improved since last night.”

“It’s unlike Marcia Faustina to spread gossip,” Sherlock mused, eyes narrowed as he considered what Junius had just told him. “Especially about Mariana Tullia. Therefore I deduce that your lady wife, who is excellent at extracting subtleties, drew her own conclusions from what the Procuratrix no doubt believed to be an innocent conversation.” He smirked. “Please tell your wife I said, ‘well done’, will you?”

Junius eyed him askance. “And that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

Sherlock considered how best to respond; in the end, he simply shrugged and asked, “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to say that I’ve never been happier, that Mariana Tullia has never been happier? That I’ve finally found a way to embrace the life I was condemned to? To find the fulfillment you tried to promise me I would find when you first encouraged my _Domina_ to purchase me? Or are you looking for me to show some sort of remorse or shame at what has grown between us? Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, Junius Hadrian Veturius, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a long, long time.”

He met the older man’s gaze unflinchingly, at peace with himself and unconcerned with how Junius might react to his words. He understood the physician’s avuncular feelings toward Mariana Tullia, and his stiff Roman disapproval of fornication and the mixing of classes, but that was his problem to shoulder, not Sherlock’s.

Braced for Junius’ continued disapproval, perhaps even for a beating for being so forward to a freeborn Roman, Sherlock was disconcerted when the older man’s lips curled up in a reluctant grin. “Good for you,” he said softly, reaching out to clap Sherlock on the shoulder – fortunately not on a tender spot. “Your lady is very fortunate to have you, and you her. Even if my upbringing tells me I should be beating you senseless right now, I’ve seen the bond between the two of you growing ever since that first day. Saw it and was uncomfortable, to be honest, but my Mariana Maxia is right and has been all along: you two truly are good for one another.” He sighed. “Besides, who am I to stand in the way of true love?”

While Sherlock gaped at him, he stepped forward and grasped the front of his tunic, hauling the younger man down and closer so that they were face to face. “However,” he growled, “if you break her heart, Sherlock, I promise you…”

“You’ll break me,” Sherlock broke in impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know, Gaius Flavius already delivered the requisite threats, you needn’t add yours on. What happens between Mariana Tullia and myself is private, but I can promise you that neither of us is using the other. You may have called it ‘true love’ sarcastically – no, don’t deny it, I could hear it in your voice – but that’s…that’s exactly what it is.” His voice caught on that last and he berated himself for not keeping firmer control of his emotions.

Junius released his hold and fixed Sherlock with a sympathetic gaze. “Oh, my, you do have it bad,” he said softly. “As long as Mariana Tullia knows how you feel, then I suspect you’ll both make one another very happy, as happy as you can be under the circumstances.”

Ah, yes, there it was. The not-so-subtle reminder that Sherlock was still a slave. He restrained the urge to roll his eyes; Junius couldn’t help being who he was, and in fact had consciously risen above his ingrained Roman snobbishness to issue a sincere wish for Sherlock and Mariana Tullia’s happiness. The least he could do was…not be entirely ungracious. “Thanks,” he said, waiting with ill-concealed impatience to be allowed to return to the Hortensius household.

To go _home_.

oOo

He made his escape before Mariana Maxia could return from her stroll around the marketplace with little Benedicta Flavia and the troop of household slaves Junius deemed necessary to escort the two whenever they left his sight. Given the choice, Sherlock suspected the older man would be content if his wife and child never left the house ever again, but Mariana Maxia wasn’t one to be coddled even if she did nearly lose her life after giving birth.

Had she been in the hands of a less competent midwife, he mused as he hurried down the street, she might very well have died, and her loss would have devastated Junius. Luckily his Molly had been there, even if she gave too much credit to Lucina, goddess of childbirth, and not enough to her own skills. He should do a study sometime; he believed her father’s vision about Venus to have been most likely the product of his own dreaming knowledge, his mind putting together the fact that when he washed his hands, his patients tended to heal faster, or simply live when they might otherwise have been expected to die. Perhaps a simple survey of local midwives or their patients, would they actually answer his questions or would he have to hide his identity as Mariana Tullia’s slave to avoid any tedious – and predictable – haranguements against his mistress offered up out of spite and jealousy?

The remaining journey home passed quickly with such thoughts to occupy his mind, and he found himself on the doorstep before he knew it. Darius was on duty today and gave him a nod and a slight smirk as he pulled the wooden portal open. “Good day for a walk, to loosen up overworked muscles,” he said, the smirk deepening as Sherlock scowled at him. “Smile, pretty boy, our _Domina_ doesn’t just love you for that smart mouth and big brain of yours,” he added, giving Sherlock a playful shove as he started to brush by him.

The man’s choice of words, however, brought Sherlock to a complete stop. “Don’t speak so disrespectfully about Mariana Tullia,” he growled, hands clenching in unconscious fists. “Or else…”

Instead of being cowed, Darius let out a hearty guffaw as he swung the door shut behind the two of them. “No need for threats, not behind this door,” he scoffed. “None of us would see any harm come to our lady, haven’t you figured that out by now? You needn’t worry about anyone carrying tales to those two harpies she calls sisters, or gossiping about her in the marketplace. Just as long as you make her happy, we’ll keep your secrets.” Then he winked and nodded toward the interior of the house. “She’s in the courtyard, having young master Marcus Aegyptus read to her from some boring old Greek scroll, probably one you gave him to translate. I’m sure they’d both appreciate a cool drink of water right about now, and maybe some of the honey rolls the Procuratrix just finished baking!”

Feeling somewhat dazed, Sherlock made his way to the kitchens, where a tray of honey rolls was indeed cooling on the window ledge. Marcia Faustina gave him an understanding smile when he requested a small basket of them to bring to the courtyard. “Oh yes, these will keep young master Marcus occupied while you and the _Domina_ have a nice chat,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Of course she made sure cover them with a small cloth, and to hand him three clay cups neatly stacked together. The water he would draw from the well that served the house. Impulsively he dropped a kiss on the old woman’s cheek; she giggled like a young girl and swatted him playfully with her apron as he strolled out of the kitchen.

Marcus Aegyptus was just finishing up his recital – his Greek had improved quite a bit in the past several months, he made few mistakes Sherlock’s well-trained ear could pick up – and by the eager expression on his face as Sherlock waited respectfully for him to finish, he knew very well what sort of treat lay under the white cloth in the basket his tutor held.

Mariana nodded as soon as he’d finished and rolled the scroll back up; he handed it to her, scooped out three of the four rolls, not bothering with taking one of the cups as he dashed off with Barbarossa hard on his heels. Mariana grinned ruefully, then patted the seat next to her. “Well,” she said as she accepted the last roll from him and took a sip of the cool water he’d drawn while her brother was still scurrying away with his treat, “at least he left us one to share.” She smiled and tore the warm treat in half, offering the larger side to Sherlock.

“Mm, no, you eat it, I’m sure the Procuratrix will save one for me for later. As long as I don’t break your heart, that is,” he added lightly as he dropped to his haunches by her feet instead of taking the offered seat by her side. 

“Ah yes, if I ever wondered if it were true that gossip spreads faster than illness, surely I need look no further than my own household,” she murmured with a small blush. She glanced down at him from beneath her eyelashes. “No one has seriously threatened harm to you because I decided to take you into my bed, have they?”

Well, that answered the question of whether Mariana knew already; he deduced that either Marcia Faustina or Salonina Theodora must have found some subtle way to let their mistress know that they understood what had happened…and also to show their support to her, to let her know any gossip wouldn’t go past the household doors. Everyone in this house truly loved her.

Including himself, the one person in the world he’d never imagined capable of so soft an emotion. He remembered once boasting to his brother about how no woman would ever own his heart, because he didn’t have one. Mycroft had appeared skeptical, but then, Mycroft had always been skeptical of his abilities.

“Where is your mind, _amica mea_?” Mariana murmured. Sherlock blinked and tilted his head to look up at her; somehow he’d ended up settled between her legs with one arm resting on her knee and her hands draped over his shoulders. He picked a small piece from the honey roll she still held and brought it up to her lips. She took the piece daintily between her perfect white teeth, smiling fondly at him all the while, and he felt such a surge of happiness and contentment – true happiness, deep contentment – in his breast that he felt as if the breath had been squeezed out of him.

“Always on you, _Domina_ ,” he replied when he could make his lungs work again. He stroked the back of her hand with one finger. “Always on you.” 

_Note: I used the term “dreaming knowledge” because the idea of the subconscious wasn’t developed until centuries later, and that was the best term I could come up with._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a ride it's been. Latin errors notwithstanding, I hope everyone's been enjoying the story. Next up is the epilogue, thanks for sticking with me this long!


	17. Epilogue: Et Semper Postquam Feliciter (Happily Ever After)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the final chapter in my ancient Roman AU. I hope everyone enjoyed the ride, and thank you all for joining me and sticking with it to the end! Thank you nocturnias my dear for inspiring it, encouraging it, and helping me with the BDSM aspects that I needed assistance with!

**Six Months Later**

Life quickly settled into a new rhythm for Sherlock, although much remained the same: he was still tutoring young Marcus Aegyptus (Archie when they were alone, a private name between friends), investigating crimes with Gaius Flavius (and occasionally Junius Hadrian, if a physician was needed who also happened to be a former Centurion), sparring with Salonina Theodora, filching sweets from Marcia Faustina – but, most importantly, he was now spending a great deal of time with Mariana Tullia, both in and out of the bedroom.

It wasn’t a perfect life, far from it; Sherlock was still a slave, after all, but as he spent a leisurely spring afternoon perusing some scrolls he’d ‘borrowed’ from Mariana’s private stash (her taste in oratory was appalling but it did give him some ideas when it came to their bedroom time together), he concluded that (surprisingly enough and not necessarily something he’d ever admit aloud) it wasn’t the worst life he could have ended up with.

“Sherlock?”

He smiled to himself as he lowered the scroll to the bench and stood up to face his _Domina_. His smile faltered as he took in her nervous expression; coupled with the fact that she was wearing her best gown and was adorned with jewelry, his comfort evaporated like mist in the summer heat. “What’s wrong? Are your sisters in Rome?” His eyes flicked over her, head to foot, and his frown deepened. “No, you’re not wearing any of the jewelry they’ve gifted you with, you’re wearing your mother’s pearl earrings and the necklace I gave you for your birthday, you’d never wear either of those in front of those two harpies.”

“Sherlock, nothing’s wrong,” Mariana rushed to assure him, but he couldn’t relax, not when it was obvious that she was so nervous herself. But of course she would want to make him feel better, to not worry; that was who she was, what she did, how she lived her life.

“Then why are you…What’s this?” he interrupted himself to ask as she held out a sealed scroll.

“Open it,” she encouraged, trying to push the document into his hands. Clearly whatever was going on was something she’d worked herself into a nervous fret over. 

“What is it?” he asked again, looking down, automatically deducing the official nature of the document by the mark seared into the red wax seal. Her bank, the one holding her personal assets rather than the household monies kept in trust for Marcus Aegyptus. “Tell me,” he half-demanded, his stomach tightening in unease. If this was what he thought it was…

“It’s my bank records,” she replied, as expected.

He let his hands remain by his sides as he carefully studied her face. “I don’t need to see a statement of your finances, Molly,” he finally said. “So why don’t you explain why you feel the need to share them with me now.”

oOo

Mariana took a deep breath, ignoring the flutter of pleasure his use of her special name always raised in her belly. Now was not the time to think of the happiness she felt at having him in her life; this wasn’t about her, not today. It was about Sherlock, about his needs and what was best for him. Ever since they’d become intimate with one another, she’d been wrestling with the idea of finding a way to free him that wouldn’t be any sort of financial burden on the household; she’d have to purchase or hire another tutor unless Sherlock decided to remain in Rome and continue his duties. Selfishly she wished to keep him by her side forever, but she loved him too much to force him to stay.

No, the time had come; the longer she let it go on, the harder it would be for her to ever do what was right and give him his freedom. “I’m showing you this so that you see that what I’m about to tell you isn’t some empty promise.” Another deep breath, but before she could speak, he’d moved closer and gently pressed his fingers over her mouth.

“Don’t,” he said simply – deducing her intent, as she should have known he would. “That money is meant for you to live on in after you no longer need to be responsible for your brother, to buy a house of your own and live your life the way you choose to, free of family obligations. Or else you’ll be forced to remain under your sisters’ control that much longer.” He reached out and gently caressed her face. “My freedom isn’t worth exchanging your own for.”

Then he did something extraordinary, something so astounding that Mariana felt her breath leaving her lungs, her blood pounding through her veins as her heart increased its tempo until it pounded in her chest as if trying to escape the confines of her flesh.

He knelt, keeping his eyes on hers. Steadying her with a hand on her thigh, he raised her right foot until it rested on his knee, leaned down, and pressed a firm kiss to the straps of her sandal. “ _Domina_ ,” he whispered as he looked back up at her, his expression so raw and open and full of love Mariana thought she might faint from the wonder of it. “I will never leave you.” Then his lips quirked in that familiar, infuriating smirk, and he added, “So you might as well get used to having me around.”

**Ten Years Later**

Mariana looked around the country estate which she’d so recently purchased with an air of contentment. Marcus Aegyptus had grown into a fine man, and she’d gladly turned over control of the family’s money and property to him. Sherlock had tutored him well in finance, and Junius and Mariana were there for advice should he need it – and since Marcus was already betrothed to their eldest daughter and would marry her as soon as she came of age, both sides had a vested interest in looking out for one another.

As she stretched out her legs on the wicker settee, a pair of strong arms encircled her, and she sighed in contentment as she rested her head on Sherlock’s broad chest.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Mariana craned her head around, eyebrows raised quizzically. “Regret what?”

“Giving up your life in Rome to retire to the country with me. I have my studies to keep me busy, and of course the bees, but you…you deliver less than half as many babies as you did back there, and have given up your chance to have any of your own. Surely you must have regrets, after all this time?”

Mariana shushed him with a hand pressed firmly over his lips. “Shh, no, Sherlock, I don’t regret it. None of it. I’ve lived a blessed life with the man I love. What more could I possibly want?”

“Mmm, perhaps, this?” He turned her so that she was facing him, a giggle on her lips as he brought her close enough to claim a kiss.

“Oh yes, my sweet barbarian,” she said, her voice husky with desire as she reached up to caress his face. “Now that I have you all to myself out here in the country, whatever shall I do with you?”

Her lips curved in a wicked grin as he gulped, eyes widening as she pressed him back and leaned over him. “I fear you’ve been so caught up in your studies of the bees that you’ve been neglecting me. Sooo…” She drew the word out, enjoying the fine sheen of sweat that her actions had raised on his brow, the rapid beating of his heart, the dilation of his pupils so that they swallowed up the ever-changing blue-green of his irises. She waited until she saw his tongue dart out to moisten his lips, until she felt his hands tightening on her arms and the stirring of arousal before suddenly lifting herself up, hopping to her feet as she said sweetly, “I do believe I’ll need something to eat, perhaps a flagon of wine as well. A picnic under the olive trees will do nicely.”

She refrained from smiling as he scowled at her and shifted a bit. When he remained reclining on the chaise, however, she allowed a hint of a frown to mar her features, and clapped her hands together sharply. “Sherlock! Your _Domina_ requires your services. Fetch the food and drink and a blanket and meet me under the olive trees in twenty minutes. Do I make myself clear?”

Judging by the eager way he jumped to his feet – and the glimpse of a prominent bulge beneath the hem of his tunic before it fluttered back down in place – her change in tone was exactly what he’d been hoping for. “Yes, _Domina_ ,” he said obediently, hands clasped behind his back, eyes downcast. With a brief duck of the head he turned and left for the main house, keeping his steps measured until he reached the decorative row of potted junipers that lined the walk. Mariana grinned fondly and shook her head as she heard him break into a run as soon as he was out of her sight; ten years together and he was still as eager for her as she was for him.

Draping her green stole over her arm, she strolled down to the olive grove, making sure to time it so that Sherlock would have ample time to reach the kitchens, throw together some semblance of a meal – most likely a jumble of rolls and perhaps a honey cake or two if the Procuratrix was feeling generous – and meet her at their favorite trysting spot.

The grove of olives was a small one, only thirty trees in all, meticulously maintained by both Sherlock and her two-man gardening staff. They thought it odd that their mistress only required their services four days at a time, with a two-day break in between – unheard of even for freedmen! – but chalked it up the eccentricities of a midwife who’d willingly left Rome to live in the country without any sort of scandal attached to her name. She paid them fairly for their labors – with Sherlock keeping a sharp eye out for her, since men in the country were just as bad as men in the city at assuming a woman living on her own was fair game for either assault or theft – and so they had nothing to complain of.

As soon as she reached the most secluded patch of the grove, the sound of footsteps hurrying along the path she’d just followed alerted her to Sherlock’s presence. She turned and smiled as he set the large basket and flagon of wine he’d acquired down on the ground, then squealed with laughter as he tossed the blanket next to it and hurriedly pulled her into his arms. They tumbled to the ground as their lips met, Sherlock taking care to be the one with his back on the blanket so that Mariana came to rest on top of him.

“My, so eager today,” she said huskily when the kiss ended. She tugged lightly at his dark curls, loving the low hum of pleasure he gave. His lips were on her throat, one hand stroking lightly from her shoulders to her buttocks and back up again, and it was her turn to hum with pleasure. “Not that I’m complaining, but what is about today that makes you so, mmmm, attentive, _dulcia_?”

She was teasing him and he knew it; he pulled his mouth away from her throat and gave her a mock pout, brows lowered and hands stilling – although he was still hard and ready for her, there was no disguising that fact through the thin layers of their summer clothing! “You know very well what day it is,” he grumbled. “Marcia Faustina is preparing a special feast for dinner tonight in celebration, unofficial though our union may be.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips by way of apology. “Of course I haven’t forgotten,” she said softly, stroking his cheek with one hand and gazing into his blue-green eyes, loving how blown back the pupils had become. She shifted deliberately, aligning her core with his hardness, and felt a surge of love and warmth as his sudden intake of breath. She sat up, hitching her gown over her thighs and around her waist, allowing him to see that she wore nothing underneath – which fact he’d most likely already deduced, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she’d shaved and waxed herself bare just for him, the way he most liked to see her and that she reserved only for special occasions.  
`  
Their tenth anniversary was more than special enough to warrant the inconvenience – and the look in his eyes as he took in the sight of her bared _cunnus_ , already slick with moisture? Beyond price.

He held still, moving only his eyes as she undid the ties holding her gown in place, his hands warm on her thighs and his breath sharp. Once she was completely bare, she raised herself up on her knees, tilting her head to one side and giving a small nod. Permission granted, he moved with alacrity, careful not to jostle her too much as he squirmed out of his own clothing, taking care to fold it and set it aside while remaining on his back, as her position over him told him he must remain. When he finished he took her own carelessly-discarded gown and folded it just as carefully, setting it reverently on top of his clothes. When he arched his back in an attempt to reach his sandals, though, she took pity on him, shaking her head and moving slowly around so that her bottom was presented to him, her _cunnus_ very nearly pressed against his face.

She heard him give another sharp intake of breath, and this time his hands – nay, his entire body – twitched as he waited for permission to do more than look at her. Oh, she’d trained him well, her beautiful slave, and now it was time to reward him for ten years of faithful service. As she leaned down to begin undoing the ties to his sandals, she whispered a single word.

“Now.”

oOo

Sherlock was about to go mad with impatience when Molly finally spoke. As soon as the word left her mouth he exploded into action; reaching up to grasp her by the waist, pulling her hips down so that her soft, pink _cunnus_ rested directly on his eager mouth, opening his lips and plunging his tongue deep inside her. He could never get enough of her, the taste and feel of his _Domina_ , whether she was wielding the flogger to tease such exquisite pain and pleasure from him (as he prayed she would favor him with later, in their private chambers), or whether they were making loving in a more traditional manner, as they were now.

Well, he thought with an inner smirk as he pressed the flat of his tongue against her _clitoridis_ , perhaps not entirely traditional. She wiggled and sighed as he worked his tongue deep inside her, and with a flutter of anticipation he felt her tug off first one, then the other of his sandals. Now that she’d completed her self-imposed task, surely it meant – ahhhhh, yes, it did indeed mean she was ready to lavish as much attention to his body as he was to hers. Her mouth settled lightly on the head of his _mentula_ , her tongue’s movements mimicking those of his own against her sweet flesh, and his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. He increased reached between her thighs with one hand, sliding two fingers inside her, gliding his tongue against her _clitoridis_ again, focusing on bringing her to completion before her ministrations distracted him too much. Even after ten years together, he found it nearly impossible to concentrate when Molly had her mouth wrapped around his erection, even when the task he was attempting to concentrate on was so very, very pleasurable.

Within minutes she was calling out his name, resting her head on his thigh as she pulsed around his tongue and fingers. He eased her onto her side, making sure she landed on the blanket, tenderly stroking her sweat-dampened hair from her face – it had come tumbling out of the loose coils she’d styled it in – and patiently waiting for whatever she wanted to happen next.

Her eyes finally opened, and she smiled dreamily at him. “Oh my lovely, lovely boy,” she whispered. “You take such good care of your _Domina_.”

“Because you take such good care of me,” he replied, no teasing between them now. “And of course, because I love you,” he added, leaning down for a soft, gentle kiss.

Seconds later he found himself once again flat on his back with his sweet Molly kneeling over him, a determined look in her brown eyes as she positioned her _cunnus_ over his _mentula_. He moaned a bit as he felt her slick warmth gripping him; her hands came to rest on his abdomen and her hair fell around her face as she slid up and down a few times, allowing his girth to properly stretch her until finally she was fully seated with him deep, deep inside her.

He grasped her hips, helping to coordinate their joint movements until they found their rhythm; she leaned forward and brushed her breasts against his chest, sliding her lips over his throat and ears, murmuring love words in Roman and Greek as she rode him. He in turn whispered his adoration for her in every language he could remember – which was far fewer than normal considering all the blood had rushed from his brain to _mentula_ long before she mounted him – before giving it up and simply gasping and moaning at the pleasure she was pulling from his body.

He felt the tightening in his lower back and balls that signaled oncoming orgasm, but long practice made him more than capable of holding back until he’d ensured his Molly’s pleasure first. He moved one hand from her hip to her hidden pearl, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the sensitive peak until he felt it; the way she shuddered, the increase in her pace, the way her body clenched around his. Then she gave a little cry, throwing her head back on her shoulders, digging her nails into his chest until she drew blood, and his own gathering storm broke, leaving him a gasping, trembling mess.

They lay together in one another’s arms long enough that Sherlock felt himself drifting into sleep, the warmth of the mid-day sun, the softness of his lover’s body in his arms, the droning of the bees all combining with post-coital lethargy to fully relax him. Molly murmured something soft and shifted a bit in his hold, tugging the blanket up so that it partially covered them. Sleep followed swiftly after that, and it was more than an hour before they would actually partake of the picnic lunch he’d brought on her command, feeding each other morsels and sharing the wine from a single cup.

_Ten years together,_ was his last, contented thought before sleep fully overcame him. _Ten years of being with my Molly._

_Perfect._


End file.
